A Storm of Beauty In His Face
by CE Winters
Summary: Kurt has never had a knight to save him. Blaine has never had a role-model to show him that what makes you different is the best part about you. Eight years after they should have met, Kurt and Blaine are about to turn each other's worlds upside down.
1. Chapter 1 :: Attack On Stage

_A/N: Hello there everyone! It goes without saying that I'm CE Winters, and I thank you for clicking into this story! :) A few quick things about this fic before we start, feel free to skip over if you like, though it should answer some questions:_

**Rating:**_ M - This is for harsh language, adult themes and scenes, and sexual material later on._

**Summary: **_Kurt has never had a knight to save him. Blaine has never had a role-model to show him that what makes you different is the best part about you. Eight years after they should have met, Kurt and Blaine are about to turn each other's worlds upside down._

_This story follows Glee canon with the huge exception of everything concerning Dalton - what might have happened if Kurt had never met Blaine Anderson? I'm a bit late to the craze, but this is an Ontario the exotic dancer fic. I hadn't even read one until yesterday. That fic, written by _my lovely friend Angelica (Brilliantim on here, y'all should go check her out!),_ unknowingly got my male stripper-muse going! I like it so far so I hope no one is disappointed._

_A few things to keep in mind: Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel have never met; if you're curious about back stories at the end of this, good! That's what I was going for. You'll find out more as the characters do, that's what makes it fun :)_

_Enjoy! :)_

* * *

><p>Kurt pulled his thick coat more tightly around his thin frame as he walked down the cold, slush-laden streets of New York City in the winter. He tried not to look up at anything or anyone as he passed; he was just going through the motions, as he had been for the past few years. There were some aspects of his life that remained constant after the accident – for example, he couldn't bring himself to give up his chic, expensive wardrobe – but most aspects had turned around one hundred and eighty degrees. Kurt only wished that it had been for the better.<p>

"No way!" A voice came from Kurt's left. He didn't look up. "You're Ontario! Shit, man, you're on fire when you're on that stage. Are you dancing at The Adonis tonight?"

His stomach sinking, Kurt turned up his head. The man was exactly the kind of person The Adonis catered to: New York's young gay youth, and unfortunately, they could often be too outspoken. He was shockingly blonde, but Kurt noticed that his eyes were cruel; even his gaze objectified Kurt's being. He didn't say anything, he just nodded. He didn't want his outside world connected with his work, and right then he was still Kurt.

He turned to keep walking, but the blonde let out a sound of protest and quickened his step to catch up with Kurt. "Hey, come on! Be nice – you don't want to lose customers, do you?"

Kurt knew that he had enough customers – he could afford to lose one who insisted on bothering him when he was off the job. His manager, however, wouldn't be so happy that he was scaring clients away. Kurt looked back up and smiled at the young man. He shouldn't be going to strip clubs anyway; upon closer inspection, Kurt thought he looked even younger than he was, and that was young enough. "I'm not on duty," he said, tone flat in spite of his smile.

"Pity," the man said with a sneer. "All those layers aren't doing anything for you."

"Okay," Kurt muttered bitterly as he shook his head and began walking away again. So it was going to be like _that…_

He heard the man scoff. "Oh, come on! Why are you getting so offended? You're just a goddamn whore, aren't you used to it?"

Kurt's steps faltered; he was tempted to either run away while sobbing hysterically or turn back and attempt to kick the shit out of the other man. In the end, he did neither. "You don't know me," he whispered quietly. The man may or may not have heard, but Kurt hardly cared. They didn't know him…

* * *

><p>"Ken," the curly-haired man protested as the other man slowly walked away from him. It wasn't the fact that Kenneth himself was leaving that made him mad – it was the fact that everyone left in exactly the same way. "You're being a jackass, just calm down for a couple minutes."<p>

"Blaine," Ken whispered. He, unlike Blaine claimed, was exceedingly calm. "I _am_ calm, and you know it. You can't tell me that you didn't see this coming."

"_I didn't see this coming,_" Blaine lied.

Kenneth shook his head. "Why are you protesting when your heart was never invested in us in the first place?"

"Why does everyone – why are _you_ saying that?" Blaine asked heatedly.

Kenneth shook his head in a way that made him look to Blaine like Ken pitied him. "You put on this façade so convincingly, Blaine," he said. "So much so that I thought it might have been my imagination at first. I can't…get wrapped up in someone who purposefully makes themselves lonely, and you would be so, _so_ easy to wrap myself up in." He laid a soft hand on Blaine's cheek.

Blaine leaned into the touch, trying desperately for it to spark something in him that chased away the pit that seemed to engulf him. "I hate you," he whispered. "Why can't you make it _go away_?" Blaine knew that his words were supremely unfair to the other man, but he found himself feeling this way toward many people. What would it take to repair what had been broken for so long?

"I wish I could." Blaine's eyes were closed, but he felt Ken kiss him softly. At this point, it was just a motion to go through; Ken was leaving, and Blaine wasn't even upset that he'd soon be by himself. At least when he really was alone, he had an excuse to feel that way. "Someday Blaine, you'll find some lucky guy who is everything you need him to be. I envy him…but he isn't me. Maybe I'll see you again…"

Blaine hoped not. He didn't think he could look Kenneth in the face after making such a pathetic fool of himself in front of him. He didn't say anything else, and he didn't get up even long after Kenneth left. He would find someone? Blaine doubted it. It had been the same since high school – his father had pounded it into him enough that his preferences were _wrong_. He had waited for someone to come along, someone who was strong and confident, someone who could show him how to _be_, someone who could be his personal superhero…but he had never come, and now Blaine doubted that he ever would.

Slowly, he walked to the door and cracked it open. He peered outside, as if Kenneth might still be lurking by the doorway. He was long gone; the only person in the hall was Blaine's crazy neighbor, Mr. Hillard, but Blaine stared down the hallway anyway. He'd met countless people, all equally enraptured by him, but Blaine still felt alone. How was that even possible? He shook his head at the empty hallway. "You don't know me," he whispered.

"Blaine Anderson, struggling musician, twenty-three, homosexual yet never keeps a boyfriend, strangely doesn't own a cat…yet," Mr. Hillard rattled off facts about Blaine, ending his rant with a cackle.

Blaine rolled his eyes, used to his neighbor's antics. "Go to bed, Mr. Hillard, it's getting dark."

"Oh Blaine," Mr. Hillard said with a tsk. "Don't you know that nighttime is when the fun begins?"

Blaine didn't grace him with an answer, but he walked back into his apartment contemplatively. Fine – Kenneth thought he made himself purposefully lonely? He'd see about that.

* * *

><p>Kurt slipped in through the side of the building. He could hear music pumping from the main room. It was almost dusk, the time of night when the real customers started showing up. He knew he should be thankful for many things, but the only one he managed was that he hadn't been hired as a daytime exotic dancer. No one wanted <em>that<em> job.

"You're late," said the familiar voice of his manager.

Kurt attempted an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Dave, I got…held up," he said.

Dave Karofsky surveyed him for several moments before sighing. "You look horrible. I hope you can get your act together before you go on tonight. Then again," he added ruefully, with a smile that almost pitied, "you always do."

"Shut up, David," Kurt muttered, pushing past him.

"Don't you think it's time you let it go?" The question was soft and hesitant, most unlike Dave, even after he dropped his bullying façade and owned up to his true self. "It's been three years, and you haven't been the same since…since it happened. You know that I'm always more than willing to help you, Kurt – after what I used to put you through, it's only fair – but we _both_ know that this isn't the kind of thing you're meant for."

"We also both know that everything I was 'meant for' came catastrophically crashing down around me when I tried to collect myself," Kurt said in a monotone.

"You weren't trying to collect yourself, you were letting yourself wallow and dwell on it," Dave protested hotly. Now _that_ was the man Kurt knew.

"_David_," Kurt hissed sharply. "Enough. We aren't talking about this. It was _my_ fault, so why shouldn't I wallow in it?" Without another word, he marched backstage to get changed. It _was_ his fault, and now they were dead. They wouldn't ever come back, and it _was_ his fault.

No tears escaped. Kurt had gone through enough tears on their behalves. Once upon a time, he was living his dream. In high school, Dave had apologized and even requested assistance on helping him come out. Senior year, Kurt had gotten a scholarship to Julliard – step one on the path to achieving his biggest dreams. Two years later, he'd haggled with the Dean to allow him to be a part-time student. He'd booked a gig on Broadway – _he_ had been approached and requested personally. Everything was perfect. He'd called Carole, Finn, and his father and bought plane tickets for them to come see his debut show. They never arrived…and it was entirely his fault.

* * *

><p>Blaine was having the stupidest problem in the universe: he didn't know what to wear. It was absolutely ridiculous, because the place would be dark and no one would even be looking at him, but he was fretting all the same. He supposed that it might be because he was nervous overall. This was one thing that he had always told himself he would never do, and here he was getting ready to do it.<p>

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't _too_ far of a leap in imagination. He had a few gay friends who bothered him over and over to go out to this place but he'd never taken them up on the offer. He had never thought he would need the information, but it was now proving semi-useful – as useful as the location of a gay strip bar could be.

In the end, he just chose a muted cardigan, a heavy winter coat, and a beanie he could pull low over his forehead. After all, it was the dead of winter, and hopefully no one would recognize him if he was bundled up. The distant winter sun had set when Blaine finally hailed a cab and hopped in, giving it an address a few numbers away from his destination – he was a little bit ashamed, and he didn't think that the cab driver needed to know where he was going.

Blaine knew that now, he was just being stubborn. Even though Kenneth was no longer a factor, he wanted to spite his memory by proving that if he wanted to, he didn't _have_ to be alone. There was no way he could back out now, when he was walking up to The Adonis. The fact that he didn't want to be there – was almost ashamed to be there, because who in the hell was desperate and lonely enough to go to a gay strip bar? – aside, he was just stubborn enough to ignore it and go anyways.

He was almost shocked by the entry fee – a measly fifteen dollars. Wasn't this place supposed to be all the rage? But, for all he knew that could be the average amount. There was also a sign hanging right inside that read:

**NO ALCOHOL**

Was this place for real? He really hoped that meant that this was a classy joint and not some fun-sucking shameful puddle where losers pooled and felt sorry for themselves and even sorrier for the poor creep next to them.

Blaine took a table in the back – he didn't have a ton of cash, and he didn't want to be shelling out all night for sitting in the front, near the stage. There were a few men, obviously dancers, making their way through the tables, dancing personally for those who were interested, and a stage for a more central performance. Blaine figured that they must cycle through being on stage and walking around on the floor.

He sunk back against the wall. His coat was off, but he still had his beanie pulled low, and he leaned back into the shadows. Blaine knew how creepy he must look, but he hardly thought salivating in the front row was any less. He would wait out one or two stage dancers, and then leave.

* * *

><p>Dave smirked when he saw Kurt's ensemble. "Gee, that looks familiar," he mused, walking up to the other man. "Sticking with an old favorite tonight, are we?"<p>

"We both know that it's my best song," Kurt answered. He straightened out his sequined vest as he looked into a backlit mirror.

"Only because you've been dancing it since you were fifteen," Dave said with a chuckle.

"With some added embellishments now, obviously." Kurt couldn't help it when he smirked slightly. He knew that Dave liked it when he decided to dance Single Ladies – he'd been doing it for so long that even half-asleep, he could perform it better than all the other dancers in The Adonis combined. At least a dozen times a week, people came asking for him to perform it privately, in one of the backrooms, and _that_ was where the real money came pouring in.

Being an exotic dancer wasn't what he'd had in mind – ever – but now that he was one, Kurt knew that he would never give it up for some menial office job. He made enough money to support his expensive habits, and when he was on stage, people _wanted_ him. Kurt had never had that experience during the day before – at least, not when he was Kurt Hummel. On stage, people revered him, and even though it was only for a matter of hours, it was something that he could hold onto. The knowledge that he wasn't actually completely repulsive to those attracted to men was a reassurance, no matter what.

"You're next," Dave said to him. He reached out and loosened the tie Kurt had around his neck before patting him on the shoulder. "Kill it out there, and if you're lucky, we'll have half a dozen requests pour in for private performances before the night is over."

"Kill it," Kurt repeated. "Right…"

Dave paused. It was obvious to Kurt that he knew what he had said, but wasn't about to apologize for it. Dave had gotten him back on his feet after his life fell apart post-accident, but his patience only extended so far. "Go get them, Ontario," Dave muttered as Kurt walked past the curtain and out onto the stage amid a new wave of catcalls.

Once on the stage, Kurt adopted his onstage persona: Ontario, the exotic dancer. David liked to call him The Adonis's 8 Ball, because he could try on moods and personalities like they were sweaters. Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that it was for a second reason as well, but he never had any curiosity to find out what that reason was. On the stage, he didn't have to be Kurt Hummel. He didn't have to have not only a dead mother, but also a dead father, a dead stepmom, and a dead stepbrother. He didn't have to feel like the person who had ruined everything. He was Ontario, and they loved him.

He was on his last chorus – and what little clothes still remained on him were lined with bills – when he felt a touch on his leg. Kurt ignored it; sometimes in their excitement, patrons slipped up – even the young crowd at The Adonis. Without looking at where it had come from – a fluctuation in attention could potentially cost him money – he backed up a fraction of an inch and continued dancing.

But a second touch – more of a grab – on his calf stopped Kurt in his tracks. That was in no way accidental, the man had to lean across the stage to reach him. The golden rule in any exotic dancing club was that you did _not_ touch the dancers unless tipping or prompted. The most common misconception people had about strip clubs was that the dancers were also gigolos, which couldn't be more untrue. Though David enforced all his rules, this was one that he stuck by extremely strictly. In light of his past, Kurt knew why. Dave had seen firsthand what being unwillingly assaulted did to a person.

Kurt could see security looming, waiting to see what both he and the man would do. He yanked his ankle out of the man's grasp, set on getting back to work and finishing his set. "Don't be like that, Ontario," said the man. His speech was slurred – though the sign said no alcohol, they didn't stop people from coming in drunk unless they were aggressive. He looked up, and Kurt recognized him; despite their drunken glaze, the cruel eyes remained the same. "Don't you recognize me? I thought what we had was special."

Before Kurt knew what was happening, he'd regained his grip and pulled Kurt's leg out from under him. He came crashing to the ground, bills coming lose and fluttering down around him. Kurt cast a startled glance at security, who stared shocked and dumbfounded. Kurt's silent plea sent them into action: they quickly moved forward to restrain Kurt's assailant.

Though they were running, security hadn't even gotten halfway when Kurt saw a blur fly through his vision and collide with his attacker, who had begun to climb onto the stage and was hovering half over Kurt's body. That, more than anything else, made his heart pound in his chest. He watched in shock as the blur rolled to the ground with the blonde attacker, and quickly pinned him down. The music was still pumping but every person was silent, making Kurt's ears ring. A moment later, the security men had taken over control of the struggling man.

His champion was panting slightly from the adrenaline. Kurt watched as the man slowly turned toward him. He looked slightly unsettled, as if he didn't know exactly what he'd just done, but Kurt couldn't tear his gaze away from the man's large amber eyes.

The man kept his gaze looked on Kurt's, never venturing downward. When his mouth opened in what Kurt could only guess was concern, Kurt scrambled to his feet. Without looking back, and feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life, he scrambled to collect his discarded clothing and as many bills as he could get his hands on before walking briskly offstage.

Dave was there immediately. "Kurt, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear, he'll never be allowed to set foot on this premises again, and if he does, I'll kill him. I can't believe he did that. No one is allowed to touch you like that – _no one_." He paused in mid-rant, his breathing heavy. Altogether, Kurt thought Dave was more shaken than he was. All at once, the big man's expression softened. "Kurt…you're okay?"

"You're asking me if I'm okay _now_?" Kurt asked sarcastically. He walked to his rack of clothes and begun to change into his floor clothes. "That's rich."

"Kurt," Dave protested, laying a hand on his arm as it reached for a strap-and-bowtie piece reminiscent of that of Emcee in Cabaret. "You don't have to go back out there, not tonight."

"I want to go out there, I need the money," Kurt said, shaking off his grasp and grabbing the strappy ensemble.

"You don't."

"David," Kurt said sharply. For being a man who supposedly understood him, Dave just didn't _get_ some things. "I want to go out there, okay? Fine, I won't go back on stage, but this is my damn job and I'm not going to run away just because some bully pushed me into a locker."

It was a low blow, Kurt knew that, but Dave wasn't ruffled. He merely held up his hands in surrender, and let Kurt stomp away.

* * *

><p>Blaine had watched the exotic dancer walk away with a sick feeling in his gut. He knew he shouldn't have come here. That man – he <em>looked<em> more like a boy – had just been attacked. Blaine didn't know why he was the only one who had taken action.

Balling his fists so his hands wouldn't shake, Blaine turned and went back to his table, where his things still sat. That was it. This was a stupid idea, and he was leaving. Obviously, this wasn't the place for him. He fumbled with his things for a few minutes – what on Earth was wrong with him? – and finally stepped toward the door.

Only a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Ready to yell at whoever had prevented his swift escape, Blaine was shocked to see that it was the dancer who he'd tackled the man off of. He'd changed outfits, but it was definitely him. The man's hand dropped to his side. He didn't say anything, but he didn't move away either. He just stared, and it was beginning to unnerve Blaine.

Blaine almost said something numerous times, but he couldn't think of proper words. The man had shockingly blue eyes and smooth pale skin that you couldn't appreciate when he was up on the stage. He was leaving Blaine rather illiterate, which was stupid because he'd never seen the man before in his entire life.

Blaine grumbled something and turned away, but the immobile dancer in the ridiculous costume caught his wrist. Blaine's eyes went to where their skin was touching first before rising to his eyes again. "What?" he asked finally. It came out more impatiently than he'd intended, and Blaine immediately felt guilty. The dancer opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. What was wrong with him? Was he a mute?

Feeling impatient and more than a little foolish, Blaine rolled his eyes. The dancer still held onto his wrist; there was nothing to do but either tear away and possibly get tackled by security, which was now on high alert, keep standing there like a moron, or say something. "He had you pinned to the stage, okay? What was I supposed to do, stand there and watch? I mean…you're just a person." Blaine sighed, surprised at the flow of words which had poured forth. "What's your name?" He was even more surprised by the unforeseen, probably stupid question.

"Ontario," the dancer whispered. His voice was breathy and high-pitched, but it fit him. "I just wanted to thank you."

"I mean, what's your real name?" He should just walk away, Blaine knew it. But a voice in the back of his head told him not to. That's all he'd done his entire life: run away. He'd run away from his old public school to Dalton, and he'd run away from Westerville and his parents after graduation, in favor of New York. Was he really going to run away now, from someone who was just trying to be polite?

"Have you been here before?" Ontario asked, ignoring his question.

"No," said Blaine with a scoff. "I don't make stuff like this a habit; I'm not some weirdo creeper who – oh shit, I mean…uh…" His eyes slid closed and he mentally berated himself for saying something so stupid. When he opened them again, Ontario had the smallest of smiles on his lips.

"Well, I don't make it a habit to go out of my way like this, either," the dancer said.

"What's your name?" Blaine repeated, feeling with every moment that it was more and more urgent to not keep mentally calling this man 'Ontario'.

"Are you coming back?" Once again, his question was ignored.

"No," Blaine answered, beginning to feel annoyed. If he hadn't known better, he would have ventured to say that Ontario looked the tiniest bit distressed by his answer. "That obviously isn't your name. What is it?"

The dancer dropped his hand – up until then, Blaine hadn't realized that it had still been on his arm. "It's Ontario," he said flatly, "and I just wanted to thank you." As quickly as he'd appeared, Ontario turned around and walked away, leaving Blaine standing there gaping.

* * *

><p>"I quit," Kurt said to Dave as soon as he got backstage.<p>

"Kurt, you can't just quit. What will you do?"

"Starve," he answered dryly.

"What's wrong now?" Dave asked as Kurt ripped off his Emcee costume and hastily began putting on his own layers. "Jesus, you're emotional. Just go sleep it off."

"I have a name," Kurt said suddenly, scarf whirling around as he turned to face David. He was surprised at the stinging sensation at the corners of his eyes, and he knew that Dave was equally shocked to see it. "I have a name, and it isn't Ontario. I fucking quit."

Dave didn't protest when Kurt swept up his bag and left through the side door. Kurt glared at the other dancers backstage as they dispersed and pretended they hadn't been listening to everything he had said. He slammed the door in his wake, to reinforce his point.

In reality, both he and David knew the truth: Kurt would be back tomorrow, at the same time. Dave was right, he couldn't just quit. As dangerous as it was, Kurt ignored a cab in favor of walking through the cold winter air to his apartment – he could use the crisp air to clear his head.

In two years, he'd never once had a problem like this during his dancing. Grabby people were one thing – it happened often enough, especially in private rooms, but it was usually quelled with a sharp look. Even if it had only been the blonde assailant, Kurt could have taken it. But it was that amber-eyed man that undid him, the one that looked straight into his eyes and asked him his real name, the only one who'd gone to help him, the one who had called him a _person_.

Kurt couldn't decide if he was happy or disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing the man again. He half-hoped that he'd never see anyone who'd been in that club again, because he'd been made such a fool of. However, a guilty, selfish side of him wanted to see those amber eyes crinkle in amusement at a joke Kurt had told, and he wanted to tell the man his real name.

As soon as he could manage it, Kurt banished those treasonous thoughts. That was the kind of thing that could unhinge a dancer. He had started to bring his work home with him, and that was the ultimate mistake. The reason why he was so successful at The Adonis was because he was able to disconnect his mind and body for those few hours. At the moment, Kurt didn't think he was doing a very good job of it.


	2. Chapter 2 :: Fate

Blaine was frustrated with himself. He found himself thinking and wanting the most ridiculous things over the next few weeks. At one of his gigs, he saw a thin man with neat brown hair and almost fell off of his chair in his haste to see the man's face. He didn't do very well on tips that night, and when the man turned around, he'd had a walrus mustache. A week later, he'd agreed to go out with some friends to dinner. They'd walked, talking and laughing, past The Adonis and Blaine had almost ditched them to go inside the club, in spite of his promise not to.

He'd immediately realized what he was thinking, and resolutely stuck by his group as they proceeded to the restaurant. He was _not_ going back to that club, no matter what. Even if he hadn't really gotten off since even before Kenneth left. Even if Ontario had abnormally sparkly and expressive eyes. Even if his voice was like annoyingly joyful Christmas bells. _Especially_ if his lips were particularly pink and delicious looking. Not even then.

* * *

><p>Kurt went back to work, just like he and Dave had known he would. However, he didn't go back on the stage; Dave had forced him to take a sabbatical. Kurt wasn't happy about it, but after his breakdown the night of the assault, Dave wasn't having any of his excuses.<p>

"Please tell me you aren't wearing _that_?" Dave said as Kurt came in to work almost a month after that memorable night.

Kurt rolled his eyes. Usually he was all for being chic no matter what, but he was also all for being _hygienic_ no matter what, and he just happened to be on the last leg of his wardrobe before he had to haul his closet down to the Laundromat. "It's all I had that was clean," he defended himself. He knew that he had zero reason to defend himself…it _was_ atrocious, and he'd be lucky if he got _any_ requests tonight.

Dave stared at him, appalled. "You look like the love child of Alexis Arquette in _The Wedding Singer_ and Victoria Grant…_before_ she started dressing like a man."

"Thank you," Kurt said sarcastically. "Maybe if we're lucky, I'll land my own King Marchand."

"Let's just see if you can land _anybody_," Dave said with a smirk.

Determined to prove Dave wrong, Kurt marched out onto the floor with a fierce resolve. At four A.M., minus the part he had to take out for Dave, the bouncer, and the club DJ, Kurt left the club with exactly sixty-seven dollars.

"Well, at least it's enough to go do your laundry!" Dave called after his retreating form.

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt muttered, throwing his hand up in a wave goodbye but not turning around.

The very next morning, a random Tuesday, he hauled himself out of bed at an ungodly hour – ten, which was ungodly when he'd gone to bed at five – to gather all of his dirty clothes into three large bags and haul them to the Laundromat.

Kurt _loathed_ going to do laundry, the reason being that he had to wash his own performance clothes, and other laundry-goers weren't usually too thrilled to see someone washing glittery briefs and sequined vests in the machine next to them. Some of his personal wardrobe could be taken to the dry cleaners, he didn't trust a community dryer with his Alexander McQueen's, but costumes weren't worth the expense, no matter how embarrassing it was to wash them in public.

He hastily unloaded everything into a grand total of five washing machines, only one of which was filled with regular clothes, before perching himself on top of the nearest dryer. He popped out a book – _Stripped: Inside the Lives of Exotic Dancers_, which Dave had recommended to him after his minor breakdown – and leaned back against the wall.

Minutes passed, Kurt looking up periodically at the passing pedestrians. After he'd been sitting there almost fifteen minutes, Kurt heard a soft humming coming from somewhere on his right. He rolled up his eyes but continued to read; maybe the person would leave. But the humming continued, and it was soon followed by soft words. In spite of the fact that the voice wasn't bad – it wasn't bad at _all_ – Kurt bitterly thought that he could just save it for the shower, like the rest of them.

He whirled around, completely prepared to tell him off, but froze when he saw who stood there. Slowly, his mouth dropped in a gape. Kurt couldn't tear his eyes away from the man there. His brain was clamoring for him to turn away, but his body was in a disconnected state. He couldn't manage to come to his senses until a pair of amber eyes looked directly at him.

* * *

><p>Blaine refused to admit that he did his laundry on Tuesday mornings because he hated crowds. But, honestly, that was exactly why he did it.<p>

He piled up all of his things in a washing machine until nothing else would fit, while singing softly to himself in order to pass the time. That done, he grabbed a pad of paper and a pen he'd brought along, ready to attempt composition – it had been far too long since he'd penned a song.

Blaine looked around the room as he stood, only for his eyes to fall on a pair of crystalline blue ones that were staring straight at him. For a brief moment, he hesitated – it couldn't be. But that face had been in his daydreams enough in the past weeks for him to recognize him; it was Ontario.

Suddenly, Blaine's mind began to clamor. What was he going to _say_? He'd been thinking of this impossible meeting far more than it was normal too, and here he was with it actually happening and no words in his head. After a few moments of silent staring, he said: "Hi…it's you."

Ontario's mouth quirked upward in a smile. "It's me," he answered.

"You're, uh…wearing jeans." Blaine mentally berated himself. _You're wearing jeans?_ What had possessed him to say that? "Not that I don't…like jeans. Jeans are great."

"You know," said Ontario thoughtfully, mood seeming to change as he raised an eyebrow sarcastically. "Believe it or not, I don't actually go around all day in a rhinestone encrusted unitard."

"Oh no," Blaine said quickly, waving his hands. "I didn't think that. I, uh, I like this better."

Ontario's face smoothed out until his expression was unreadable. "Really…if I had a dime every time I heard that."

"You'd have a million dollars?" Blaine suggested, pressing start on his washer.

The dancer shook his head so minutely that Blaine thought he had imagined it, until Ontario smiled ruefully and said: "I'd have a dime."

Blaine's face fell. He would have a dime? _One dime_? What kind of life did this man lead? He cleared his throat and gestured to the space on the dryer next to where Ontario sat. "Do you mind?" The man shook his head, and Blaine hopped up next to him.

He fiddled with his notebook nervously, trying futilely to think of something to say. Coming up with nothing profound, he said: "What're you reading?"

The dancer smirked. "Ahh…it's called _Stripped: Inside the Lives of Exotic Dancers_."

Blaine immediately flushed. "Oh…uh, sorry?"

A tinkling laugh came from the other man, making Blaine blush even more fiercely. "You do know that I do this voluntarily, right? No one's forcing me to be an exotic dancer…not really."

"Not really?" Blaine asked before he could send his words through an appropriate censor.

For the first time, Ontario looked away. "It's a long story," he said shortly. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Laundry," Blaine answered, the other man's impatient tone reflected in his. He knew that he wasn't talking about the laundry, but sarcasm was a wonderful natural barrier against true emotions. After all, _he_ had been the first one to get snippy. "I write songs. I'm trying to force inspiration to hit."

"In a Laundromat?" The dancer asked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward yet again, as if his bad mood had never existed.

"Fabric softener teddy bears can be inspirational…" Blaine muttered noncommittally.

They sunk into silence again. This time, the dancer was the first time to break it. "My manager gave me the book. After…after that night I first met you…you know. It's about the cost of emotional labor concerning…what I do. It's about self-esteem and social stigma – that sort of thing."

"Is that a big deal?" Blaine asked, curious in spite of himself.

Ontario smiled ruefully. "What do _you_ think?"

Blaine shook his head and resumed fiddling with his notebook. "I don't get why you do it. If you want to dance, I'm sure there are a million opportunities."

"It's not that simple for everyone," Ontario said, climbing off the machine as his laundry beeped. He didn't look at Blaine again until he'd transferred his many loads of clothes to several dryers. Blaine had carefully averted his eyes and pretended to scribble something in his notebook when he saw what was in the washing machine. "That's like me asking you why you don't write a song that will make it on the Billboard's Hot 100 List."

"I obviously don't know anything about…what you do." Blaine shook his head. How on Earth did he dig himself so deep into a hole?

"Why did you come, then?" The question caught Blaine off guard, and when he looked Ontario, he was staring him down with his bright blue eyes.

"It's a long story," Blaine said, mimicking the words that were said to him.

Ontario, however, wasn't as easily put off as he had been. "I have time," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Blaine. "Fine," he agreed. "But if I tell you, you tell me your real name. Deal?" He held out his hand.

Ontario visibly hesitated, and Blaine could almost see the conflict raging in his mind. "Deal," he said finally, reaching out and taking Blaine's hand.

* * *

><p>"Deal," Kurt said. He grasped the other man's hand. "You do realize that you haven't introduced yourself, right?"<p>

From the look in those amber eyes, he _hadn't_ realized it. He didn't think to use it as another bartering chip though, as Kurt had feared he would, but instead gave it freely. "Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt repeated softly. "Well, Blaine Anderson…I'm waiting."

Blaine looked down and began to pick at one of his shoelaces. "First of all…I'm gay."

Kurt couldn't help it when he smirked. "I figured that when I saw you in a gay strip bar."

A nervous laugh escaped Blaine's mouth, and Kurt smiled at how awkwardly charming the other boy was without even trying. "Right. I had a boyfriend type thing…sort of." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Let's just say things like that – _relationships_ – don't really work out for me, ever. Apparently I'm a…'runner'."

"Ah, a runner," said Kurt knowledgably, nodding his head. "Tell me that you at least won some track medals back when that would have come in handy?"

"Funny," Blaine said dryly.

Kurt shrugged. His sense of humor was one that most people had to adjust to. "Seems to me like you just have to wait until you find someone who you don't want to run from," he told the other man.

"I'm twenty-three," Blaine said finally. "I'm done waiting. The last guy left the night I went to The Adonis. I don't know what I thought. Maybe I was under the impression that being there would erase everything bad that had happened."

Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's overdramatic statement, purposefully ignoring the sincere bit at the end, the part that sounded remarkably like something he would have said. "Oh, please. I'm twenty-three as well."

"Do _you_ have your 'someone that you don't want to run away from', then?" Kurt didn't answer. "You can't tell me that you're actually _happy?_"

Kurt huffed obstinately. "What? Just because I'm a stripper, you don't think I could possibly be happier than you, sitting there wallowing and making yourself even more miserable?" Kurt's voice was louder than it needed to be. He tried to ignore the woman who covered her child's ears when he revealed his profession. He crossed his arms moodily but didn't move to leave. He didn't want to go, not really. He just didn't relish being preached at by someone like _Blaine Anderson._ Blaine Anderson was the first exciting thing that had happened to Kurt since his life had fallen apart. It just showed how truly pathetic his existence had become.

"So, are you going to tell me or what?" Blaine asked after a few minutes of silence.

"What?"

"Your name – you promised."

"Yes I did, and no I am not."

Blaine scoffed, and Kurt took pleasure from the fact that one sentence had produced such a response. "You're no fun," Blaine lamented with a pout.

"You're telling me," Kurt answered, tucking a loose thread from his coat under his cuff. He'd have to remember to trim it when he got home.

"You know, you're kind of pathetic," Blaine said. Something in his tone stopped Kurt from immediately jumping down his throat. He didn't say it as if it were an insult – merely an observation. Nonetheless, Blaine must have seen something in Kurt's face, because he continued. "Don't worry. I'm kind of pathetic, too."

"Now _that's_ a surprise." The _real_ surprise came when Blaine started to laugh. Kurt looked him over, slightly unnerved by the sudden burst of giggles. "Is there something wrong with you?"

"No," Blaine said, catching his breath. "It's just – it's funny, isn't it? I'm sitting here, having a conversation with an exotic dancer in a Laundromat about life and love, the lack of both, and all my social ineptitudes, and for some reason, it's actually the least lonely I've felt since…forever."

Kurt's expression softened. "Forever is a long time," he said softly.

"Yeah, well." Blaine cleared his throat, his moment of sincerity gone with the wave of his hand. "It just goes to show that real life sucks."

Kurt chewed his bottom lip. "If you're expecting me to spill my guts to you at the right moment, it isn't going to happen and this _definitely_ isn't the right moment." Blaine just smiled impartially and shrugged. Kurt sat there, silently picking at his loose thread, until the timer on his dryers went off.

He hopped to his feet and hurriedly stuffed his things back into the bags they had once been in. His haste didn't prevent the mother who shielded her child's ears from leaning over to inspect his things nosily. When his things were bagged and he looked up to bid farewell to Blaine, he saw that his amber eyes were turned on the woman in a glare. The small gesture of defense touched Kurt's heart in the same way that it had when Blaine had defended him the first time they'd encountered each other.

"Remember when I came over to thank you?" Kurt asked.

Blaine was so quiet that Kurt thought he'd somehow not heard the question. When he was about to ask it again, Blaine gave a soft, "yes."

"You helped me when everyone else just stood and watched. Then when I came to thank you, you called me a person – you _actually_ called me that, even though I was dressed absolutely ridiculously and worked where I do." Kurt turned up his eyes to Blaine's amber ones. "Stuff like that doesn't happen, not to me. From eight to four, I'm paid to be objectified and that really is all that happens. Sometimes, people just don't realize that we're human. We have…some of us have families, and we all have emotions and insecurities. Like you said that night, we're just people, but most others conveniently forget that. That's why I came to thank you – because you saw me as me before anything else."

Blaine's lips slowly turned up in a smile. "I thought you weren't going to spill your guts to me?"

"Those aren't my secrets; those are just facts that you should know," Kurt said simply. He offered up a small nod and turned to leave, hefting his bags behind him. When he was almost at the door, Kurt turned around, driven by an ulterior desire. To his mild surprise, Blaine hadn't turned his attention back to his notebook, but was staring at him.

Blaine seemed shocked that Kurt had turned around and caught him staring, but Kurt was no longer paying attention to anything but Blaine's eyes. "Kurt," he said, spitting the word out like it was hammering on the inside of his lips. "Kurt Hummel – that's my name."

The amber-eyed man smiled again. This time, it wasn't a half-smile, or a wry smile, but a real, genuine one. "Kurt Hummel," he repeated, trying the words out on his tongue. "Pleased to meet you…finally." Kurt looked at Blaine gratefully – though what he was grateful for, he didn't quite know. His eyebrow rose in curiosity when Blaine's expression became hesitant. "I don't suppose…Kurt Hummel…has a cell phone number? I-if you don't mind me calling you sometime…"

Kurt's heart soared. He'd just gotten asked for his number. He'd just gotten asked for his number from a cute, possibly emotionally unstable, somewhat conflicted, self-proclaimed flighty, but _definitely_ handsome stranger. He opened his mouth to give it, but instinct reined him in. Nevertheless, he couldn't banish the flattered and exceedingly goofy smile from his face. "I have a feeling I'll see you soon," he said, suddenly sure of it. "Ask me again then, Blaine Anderson." Trying to make his smile as mysterious as possible, Kurt left the Laundromat. Collected as his outer appearance was, inside, his stomach was doing soaring acrobatics.

* * *

><p>Blaine gaped after Ontario – <em>Kurt<em> – as he left. Why had he asked that? _Why had he asked that_? He hadn't been turned down, per se. In fact, Kurt had been smiling. Was it at the thought of them meeting again or the thought that once he left they'd _never_ meet again and he wouldn't have his number to find him by? Blaine drastically hoped for the former.

He clutched his notebook to his heart, which was pounding furiously, and closed his eyes to calm his racing mind.

"Mommy?" said the little child to the woman Blaine had glared at before. "Why did that boy just ask the other boy for his number?"

The mother harrumphed mightily, not even attempting to hide her scorn. "Oh just _shut up_," Blaine said gleefully, face breaking out into a wide smile. "You live in New York for fuck's sake." Not listening to the retort she gave, he turned his pen to the notebook he held in his lap. For the first time in many, many weeks, inspiration had hit. He was hardly in an inspiring place, but, Blaine thought as he wrote ceaselessly, he was pretty sure that his muse hadn't been the fabric softener teddy bear.

* * *

><p>Blaine lived the next week as if he was constantly waiting for something. Indeed, he was. He was anticipating the moment he and Kurt would meet again. He could always just go to The Adonis, but that seemed like forcing fate.<p>

Just over a week after their impromptu Laundromat meeting, Blaine got a phone call. "Hello?" he answered eagerly.

_"Blaine?"_

His heart sunk when he didn't immediately recognize the voice, though he_ did_ immediately recognize that his hope had been irrational. He didn't know how Kurt would have possibly gotten his number. "Yes…"

_ "Blaine, man, it's good to hear your voice! It's me!"_

"Oh, _Me_," Blaine said sarcastically. "Yeah, hello. Sorry Me, I didn't recognize your voice." He was met with silence. "Who the fuck is _me_?"

_ "Jeff, of course! We haven't seen each other in ages, but I'm living in New York for a while, and I thought I'd give you a call."_

"Jeff," Blaine repeated slowly, memories of Dalton Academy flooding back. "Jeffrey Sterling, is that _you_? Oh my…"

_ "I know! You sound different too, Blaine – less Victorian gentleman, more…modern day New York!"_

"I'm afraid so," Blaine said with a wry smile. "Are you in the city now?"

_ "I got here a few days ago. I would have called earlier, but I've been settling in."_

"What's the occasion for the move?" Blaine inquired.

_"It's a long story,"_ Jeff replied with an infectious laugh that made Blaine smile at the receiver_. "It's the type that's much more suited for an in-person telling. We need to catch up! What are you doing the rest of the day, Blaine? We should go out tonight."_

"Sure!" Blaine was surprised with how quickly and enthusiastically he had agreed. "Why don't you come over to my apartment at around seven? We can go somewhere from here."

_"Sounds great, man."_ Blaine gave Jeff directions, and hung up the phone, his thoughts _almost_ distracted from Kurt.

* * *

><p>"No," Kurt said flatly. "No, David."<p>

"Oh, come on," Dave wheedled. "It's your first real night off in _ages_. You can't just sit around all night. You know, you're not going to be pretty enough to exotic dance forever, and then you'll be sorry that you didn't attempt to socialize because _I'll_ be your only friend."

"You'll give me a management position," Kurt argued. He hadn't told Dave about Blaine; he didn't think that he'd be able to stand the taunting.

"That decides it," Dave said, throwing up his hands and dragging Kurt to his feet. "We're going out."

"Oh fine – _fine_," Kurt hissed, brushing David off of him. "Just let me change into something else quickly."

* * *

><p>"Blaine! <em>Nice<em> place," Jeff commented as soon as Blaine opened the door.

"Jeff!" Blaine was slightly surprised that he was genuinely excited about his night out with his old friend. He wasn't even dreading going out into a crowded place. "You haven't changed a bit." Indeed, he hadn't. Jeff still had the same floppy blonde hair and wide, excited puppy dog eyes.

"_You_ have," Jeff said, moving inside upon Blaine's urging. "You're a city boy, Blaine. I never would have guessed it. I'd have thought…well, I don't know what I thought! That you'd have a husband and ten little adopted children running around!"

That startled a laugh out of Blaine. "Was _that_ the impression high school me gave off? Man, it was no wonder that I never had a boyfriend."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but headed outside quickly. Blaine was busy locking his door, but he turned around when Jeff cleared his throat uncomfortably. He followed Jeff's gaze to Mr. Hillard, who had emerged from his room and was setting up a lawn chair just outside his door.

Blaine smiled and shook his head. "Hello, Mr. Hillard," Blaine said loudly.

"Blaine Anderson," replied the old man with a nod. "Mystery Blonde." He nodded at Jeff.

"Mr. Hillard, this is Jeff. We went to high school together." Blaine began to move slowly down the hall. Mr. Hillard would talk your ear off if you didn't move to leave proactively.

"High school," repeated the old man. "That was a long time ago."

"Not _that_ long," muttered Jeff.

"Mystery Blonde, you're the first man Blaine has looked happy around in exactly five hundred and forty-seven days." Mr. Hillard nodded matter-of-factly.

"_Okay_," Blaine said quickly, grabbing Jeff's arm and dragging him along as he chuckled. "Goodbye, Mr. Hillard. Don't get in trouble for _causing_ trouble again."

"Ah," breathed Jeff as they got into the elevator. "I love New York already."

* * *

><p>"You're <em>what<em>?" Kurt asked bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Dave said, gathering his things. "Can you do me a favor? _Don't _leave yet. Go to the bar, have a few drinks, dance with a cute guy – just don't leave, not so soon."

"But _you're_ leaving."

"Emergency," Dave said, brandishing around his cell phone. "Here, drinks are on me." He pushed a fifty dollar bill into Kurt's hand and began to shove him toward the bar. "I'll see you tomorrow, and you have to detail everything that happens from this moment forward."

"We aren't junior high school girls," Kurt called after his friend's retreating figure. Dave didn't turn around. "Great," Kurt muttered, turning and finishing the walk to the bar.

What on Earth was he supposed to drink? He'd only been legal for two years, and of that time, he hadn't exactly had anyone to go out with. "Um…" He said the first thing that came to mind. "Bacardi and Coke?" The bartender nodded shortly, and a drink was quickly mixed and pressed into his hand. Kurt took a hesitant sip, surprised by the smoothness of the drink.

After finishing his first, Kurt was feeling daring. Of course, at Julliard he'd been to the occasional wild party, but those were the types of occasions where one drank what was being passed around. Looking back on it, the community red cups were positively revolting. Sitting at a bar and ordering whatever he wanted on David's dime was new – and if he went over the fifty bucks, Kurt fully intended on coercing reimbursement. The Stoli Cranberry he tried next hit considerably harder, but after two of those, Kurt found that he quite liked the carefree feeling warming his chest; it wasn't a sensation his normal self was familiar with.

A liberal amount of drinks and many batted eyelashes later, Kurt was feeling considerably looser than he had – _ever_ – and he beamed at the small crowd of women that had surrounded him. He found it hilarious when the one with the darkest hair began to trail her fingers up his leg – he might have forgotten to mention that he was gay.

Something she said caught his attention. "What?" Kurt asked, looking up at the dark-haired girl that had spoken.

"I said, it's refreshing that you don't seem to feel the need to go rub up against girls on the dance floor," she repeated.

"It's true," parroted one of her friends.

Kurt took a moment to process that before breaking out into giggles. "Dancing," he gasped. "Oh, dancing. Dance, dancing, dance, _I_ can dance. Oh, you have _no_ idea."

The first woman's eyebrow rose. "Oh? Is that some sort of challenge?"

"A challenge?" Kurt asked excitedly, beginning to bounce in his seat. "Oh, yes, let's do that! Let's have a dance-off!" There was no doubt in his self-assured intoxicated mind that he would win. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down harder than he had intended. "I'm ready! Me first!"

"Just warning you," she purred as she stood. "I'm unexpectedly _flexible_."

Kurt snickered. "That's nice, are you trying out for the Olympics?" He ignored her confused expression and clamored up onto the nearest table. Immediately, cat calls began to ring out through the club. Ontario was on the stage again.

* * *

><p>"Holy shit," Jeff breathed, looking around at the combination restaurantnightclub Blaine had taken them to. "This is…wow."

Blaine chuckled at his friend's stupefaction. "I'd forgotten how tame Ohio is," he said, sitting at a table.

"You've been in New York too long," Jeff said.

"No," Blaine said, shaking his head. "It's better here."

"I'll bet." Jeff's voice was rueful. Blaine knew that he was thinking about what happened after graduation, but he mercifully didn't mention it.

"So, why're you here, Jeff?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious.

Jeff's face lit up. He quickly took out his wallet and opened it up. Just inside, Blaine saw a picture of his friend with his arm around the shoulders of a lovely, olive-skinned woman.

"Isn't that…?" Blaine started to ask.

"Victoria Peterson," Jeff finished with a chuckle. "Wes' twin sister, yeah. We're engaged."

Blaine joined in on Jeff's laughter a moment later. "I can't believe it," he said, rubbing his side. He hadn't been this carefree since his days at Dalton. "Well, Jeff, she's beautiful and wonderful, from what I remember. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Jeff replied, pocketing his wallet. "She moved up here for college, so I decided to join her for a while. It'll give me some time to settle in and get used to life in the big city. Speaking of life in the big city, what have you been doing up here for the past five years?"

Blaine's face fell slightly. What _had_ he been doing? When a riot of catcalls came from somewhere behind him, Blaine took the opportunity to side-step Jeff's question by seeking the source.

"Someone's dancing!" Jeff exclaimed, grinning at the spectacle.

"They are," Blaine muttered. The person's back was turned toward him, and Blaine's eyes were immediately drawn to the near-impossible movements of his hips.

"_Wow_, he can move," Jeff said, craning to get a better look. "I need to step up my game if I'm going to live here. I…Blaine?"

But Blaine's attention was no longer on Jeff. The man had turned around. When he'd recognized the tabletop-dancer's face, Blaine had sprung to his feet. Kurt was obviously hammered. His shirt was half-off and he was twirling his jacket around teasingly – like he was doing a show.

"Kurt!" The call came louder and more sharply than he'd intended.

As far away as he was, Kurt's head turned up. He looked at Blaine blankly for a few seconds before his face lit up in a wide smile of recognition. "Blaine," Kurt called. He stumbled off the table to disappointed pleas from both men and women alike.

"You two know each other?" Jeff asked wonderingly as Kurt sashayed up to the pair. Blaine was too shocked to answer.

"Blaine Anderson, dance with me," Kurt pleaded, a pout pulling at his wide lips. His fists knotted in the front of Blaine's jacket and he tried to tug the shorter man closer.

Blaine pried Kurt's hands away, trying to ignore the part of him that wanted to pull Kurt on the dance floor and hold him close. "You are exceedingly drunk," Blaine pointed out. Kurt just giggled. Even in the dim light of the club, Blaine could see how Kurt's skin and hair seemed to shimmer. "What is _on_ you?"

"What's on _you_?" Kurt returned nonsensically, hand snaking around Blaine's neck to bury itself in the hairs at the base of his head.

"He is _so_ smashed!" Jeff said gleefully.

"Glad you're getting amusement out of it," Blaine said. His disapproving grimace turned into a reluctant smile in the light of Jeff's infectious grin. "Shit, I have to get him out of here before he embarrasses himself further."

"But I don't _want_ to go," Kurt whined, tugging sharply on Blaine's lapel.

"I'm sorry about this," Blaine apologized to Jeff, ignoring Kurt. He pushed away the taller boy's hand where he had walked his fingers up Blaine's chest and began fiddling with the top hem of his shirt. "You can stay, if you want."

"No way." Jeff shook his head. "Option Two will be much more amusing."

Blaine shook his head indulgently and began to help Kurt out of the club, with Jeff's assistance. "Where's your apartment?" Blaine asked Kurt once they were in the cab.

Kurt didn't reply immediately. He was staring out the window watching the lights stream by. "New York," he finally said.

"That's helpful," Blaine said, elbowing Jeff as the blonde began to snicker. "Where in New York?"

"New York City."

"Great," Blaine muttered. "My place it is."

"I'd better continue on to Victoria's," Jeff said when the cab stopped outside Blaine's apartment. "I'll see you again soon, Blaine!"

Blaine nodded at his friend and waved as the cab pulled away. He felt something on his shoulder and he looked around to see that Kurt had rested his chin there. "Who was that?"

"A friend from high school," Blaine replied, pulling away from Kurt and walking across the sidewalk.

"Boyfriend?"

Blaine turned to look at Kurt, who was glaring at him for a reason he couldn't begin to comprehend. "I already told you that I don't have a boyfriend, Kurt."

"Oh yeah." Kurt blinked heavily. "Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'm going to throw up." A few moments later, Kurt was bent over expelling his toxins and Blaine was gently rubbing circles onto his back.

"Uh, I hate stomachs," Kurt moaned as the elevator rose to Blaine's floor.

"Are you sure you don't hate alcohol?" Blaine asked, finding amusement in the situation in spite of himself.

"If I didn't have a stomach, the alcohol wouldn't have made me puke," Kurt lamented.

"That makes perfect sense," Blaine said indulgently. Kurt stumbled, and Blaine reached out to steady him. When he was right on his feet, Blaine didn't move his hands away. After all, he could so easily fall again – _that_ was the only reason.

"Leaving with one boy and coming back with another," Mr. Hillard said as Blaine passed him. "You've been naughty, naughty, Blaine Anderson. Where'd that nice Mystery Blonde go?"

"Home to his fiancé," Blaine answered.

Mr. Hillard's face fell. "Oh…well this one is heavily intoxicated. I hope you don't plan on taking advantage of that poor boy, Blaine Anderson."

"No, I'm detoxicated," Kurt retorted, sticking his nose in the air. "Really, I detoxicated myself all over the sidewalk outside."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hillard," Blaine called quickly, before Mr. Hillard could reply and engage Kurt in a battle of crazy. In the light, Kurt was even more of a mess. "Look at you," Blaine muttered.

He'd straightened out Kurt's shirt, but it was still rumpled, and several of the buttons were mismatched. His hair was in complete disarray, and he had copious amounts of glitter and glow-stick filler spattered all over him. "I'm pretty, right?" Kurt asked, leaning too close to Blaine.

"You look like shit," Blaine said shortly. "You look like you fucked a pixie." Kurt giggled. "Come on, I'll wash this stuff off you." He led Kurt to the bathroom and sat him down on the closed toilet while he turned on the shower.

"Can you handle this?" Blaine asked uncertainly. "The shower, I mean? Can I trust you not to drown?"

"Why?" Kurt asked, already looking pleased with himself for a joke he hadn't yet told. "Is the ship sinking?"

Blaine's eyes lifted and he contemplated the ceiling. He could, theoretically, get in the shower with Kurt. They could just leave their underclothes on; it wouldn't be a big deal. That way, he'd be sure that Kurt didn't drown and he could get that atrocious glitter off the poor man.

"Come on." Blaine urged Kurt to his feet and began taking off his layers.

"Blaine," said Kurt amidst giggles – he'd obviously recovered from being violently sick. "Buy me a drink first! You're trying to undress me and we haven't even been on a date yet." His fingers reached Blaine's shirt collar again and he began tugging.

"I'm just getting you in the shower." In spite of his words, Kurt erupted in giggles when Blaine's hands traveled down and unhooked the button of his jeans. _Calm down, Blaine_, he told himself. It's just a button. It was just a button, and that was just a zipper. Pants were pants, and they had to get off for the shower. Any mild satisfaction he might have gotten from the action of stripping Kurt down to his boxer-briefs was completely tertiary to his desires to see the man cleaned up, and make sure there was no glitter to rub off on his sheets when Kurt went to sleep later.

He helped Kurt into the shower. Once he was satisfied that he could manage for five seconds, Blaine undressed to his own underwear. "I'm just helping him take a shower," Blaine whispered out-loud. "Nothing more to it." Nonetheless, he had to gulp down something very like desire when he pulled back the shower curtain and saw Kurt leaning against the shower wall. His eyes were closed, and little beads of water were caught in his lashes. Water poured down his pale body in rivulets, and made what little clothing he had left cling to him wetly. His hair was haphazardly ruffled. He looked beautiful, and Blaine couldn't help but stare.

"I'm tired." Kurt's voice brought Blaine out of his reverie.

"I know," Blaine said, grabbing a loofa and his bottle of body wash. "This won't take long." He leaned Kurt off the wall and began running the loofa over his pale shoulders. After only a few seconds, Blaine had to stop and squeeze his eyes closed tightly. "Jesus fuck," Blaine muttered, wiping his already sweaty forehead on his arm.

"Don't stop," Kurt whispered. Blaine opened his eyes slowly, in time to see Kurt lean back into the circle of his arms. "It feels nice."

Blaine froze as Kurt's back pressed against his chest. Their skin pressed hotly together and Blaine's heart rate skyrocketed. Kurt's head leaned backward on his shoulder, exposing the pale, tender expanse of skin that was Kurt's neck.

"Small dead animals," Blaine muttered with resolve. He closed his eyes as he moved his arms around Kurt's body to wash his chest, which had somehow also accumulated glitter. If he'd been thinking logically, he could have flipped him around instead, but rationale had fled Blaine's mind. "Crying old people. _Titanic_. Floods. Forest fires. World hunger." All the morbid things he could think of were not helping Blaine; he was become quickly and strongly turned on by the mere feeling of Kurt's bare body pressed against his.

He sighed in relief when Kurt mumbled something and leaned up. Blaine's hand was shaking as he brought it upward to gently scrub the remaining glitter off of Kurt's face, where it was most populous. Kurt's bright blue eyes opened and stared at Blaine.

"I don't want to get soap in your eyes," Blaine said softly, still trying to drown his inappropriate lustful thoughts.

"We're wearing the same underwear." Of all the responses in the world, Blaine had least expected that one. "Calvin Klein, except mine are grey and yours are blue."

Blaine's eyes flicked downward. He'd known he was half-hard, but the fact that Kurt had somehow had an opportunity to examine their underwear meant that he had probably seen it too.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt whispered. His hands trailed up Blaine's arms, making the other man's amber eyes go wide. Half-under the running showerhead, steam continued to flower all around them, fogging the mirrors and windows and making it seem to Blaine as if he were dreaming. "You're charming, and awkward, and adorable."

"T-thank you." The response might have been the stupidest one in the world, but coherent thought had abandoned Blaine long ago. Kurt was still advancing toward him, and soon Blaine was the one leaning back on the shower wall. "Oh…oh my God." His breath hitched as Kurt leaned in, his lips barely tracing over Blaine's neck.

In flailing motions, Blaine skittered to the side and tossed open the shower curtain. Careless of being dripping wet, he hopped out of the shower and turned to disguise what had become a certifiable hard on. He snatched a towel and tied it around his waist, hiding its obviousness from view.

Working in quick motions, he turned off the water and threw several fluffy towels over Kurt. Now a bundle, Kurt teetered along, helped by Blaine, to his bed. "Pajamas," Blaine muttered absently, dodging around the room and eventually finding pajama pants. "You can change in here, I'll be back in…okay. I'll be back."

Leaving Kurt to find his way into the pants on his own, Blaine made fast tracks back to the bathroom to take care of his need. Being a Good Samaritan had been a _bad idea_. Elphaba was absolutely right – his road of good intentions led where such roads always lead. That was the last time he was being helpful. He'd only been trying to help wash Kurt up so he didn't look like the male stripper version of Tinkerbelle. He knew that he hadn't ended up getting more than half the glitter off, but he had needed to get out of there. The sight of Kurt, soaking wet and almost completely bare had affected him more than he had anticipated, and Blaine had even mentally prepared for it to do so to some degree.

He tried not to moan too loudly as he took care of his business, but his hands shook as he cleaned himself up. The lingering thought of what had caused him to orgasm – Kurt, hot, wet, naked, and now alone in his bed – would pretty much be a reality in two minutes and yet Blaine immediately felt guilty for having gotten off at the thought of Kurt in such a way. The man had thanked him multiple times for not objectifying him, and here he was doing just that. Though Kurt didn't know about what had just happened, Blaine secretly vowed to somehow make it up to him.

He'd had the presence of mind to bring pajamas with him to the bathroom, so Blaine slipped them on and carefully tiptoed to his own room. The lights were off, as he'd left them, and Kurt was on top of the covers in Blaine's pajamas. His face was pressed against the pillow and his eyes were closed.

Carefully, Blaine advanced toward the bed and coaxed the sheets out from under Kurt and on top of him instead. He looked at his sleeping face, which was as pale and fragile as that of an angel. "Goodnight Kurt." Before sense could stop him, Blaine had leaned down and touched his lips lightly to Kurt's cheek.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice stopped him just before he reached the doorframe. "Blaine, is that you?"

"Yes, Kurt." Blaine's lips twitched up in a soft smile. "It's just me. You can go back to sleep. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

"Don't leave." It was so quiet that Blaine thought he'd imagined the words until Kurt said them again: "Don't leave me, please. Can you stay with me?"

Blaine reached up and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Sleep in the same bed as Kurt? Right now? Well…Kurt _was_ asking, and Blaine would just be doing him a favor if he obliged. He was probably afraid to sleep alone in a strange room, in a strange house. "Of course I won't leave," Blaine said, unnerved by the softness held in his tone. "I can stay with you."

Kurt inched over to one side of the bed and Blaine carefully lowered himself onto the other side. "Goodnight, Blaine," Kurt breathed quietly. One of his hands reached out and gently brushed against Blaine's.

"…Goodnight, Kurt." He'd fought enough with his willpower for one night. Finally giving in to the smallest impulse, Blaine turned up his hand to catch Kurt's fingers with his own. With their interlocked fingers resting between them, the two men fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yay for sexy glittery showers! Um, you guys like? Yay or nay? Feel free to leave comments or suggestions or what have you :D_

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3 :: The Morning After

Kurt stirred against the sheets, and buried his face into the pillow. He inhaled the unfamiliar scent there. That was strange…he _had_ changed detergent brands last week because the new one had been half off. It was strange that his bed linens were just starting to smell different now. It was a good different though, a nice musky smell. In fact, they smelled a bit lived in…now _that_ was weird, for a new detergent.

With a start, Kurt realized that it wasn't a new detergent at all. He opened his eyes slowly to see the room he was in. With a dreaded, sinking feeling and an unholy twang in his head, he realized that there was a warm body pressed up against him. _Oh no_…what had he done?

The other body was pressed flush against his own, a bare chest – male, thank _God_ – pushed against his back. Kurt tried not to breathe too hard as he slowly turned around to gain visual access to the man's face. Seeing who lay there, everything came flooding back.

The nightclub.

Dancing.

The cab ride.

The shower.

It all flooded into Kurt's mind, only a few detailed bits and pieces missing. The man sleeping next to him was Blaine Anderson, the anomaly. He was in bed with Blaine Anderson. He was in Blaine Anderson's bed, and _he_ had asked him to stay last night. Currently, Blaine was snoring lightly, his face smashed onto the pillow under his head. It was the silliest thing Kurt had ever seen in his life, but it made him smile nonetheless.

Kurt tried to relax. Blaine wasn't awake yet, and he wasn't about to get up and go wandering about his apartment, or leave, for that matter. In addition, his head was starting to pound.

Blaine really was beautiful, Kurt realized without much surprise. His curly hair looked exceptionally fluffy, though Kurt didn't dare to try and touch it, and his eyelashes were so long that they almost brushed off of his cheekbone. His face was smooth with the peace that only sleep could bring. In the two instances Kurt had met him, Blaine had never looked that vulnerable or at ease. Kurt found that he like the peaceful, sleeping version of Blaine.

The thought that he was almost at ease in the bed of a man he had only met a few times and knew virtually nothing about did worry Kurt a little, but he brushed it away. He could think about that later. For now, he moved himself a little bit closer to the sleeping man, and closed his eyes once more.

* * *

><p>When Kurt had woken up the first time, it had been to morning's first light. When he opened his eyes for the second time, the clock by the bedside read ten o'clock, his head hurt considerably less, and he was alone in Blaine's large bed. Kurt's heart gave an unsteady flip in his chest. That meant that Blaine was somewhere in the house, awake and probably waiting for him to wake up.<p>

Trying to quell his irrational nervousness, Kurt slipped out from under Blaine's covers and tried to pull them up as neatly as he could. Hoping Blaine wouldn't mind, he opened a drawer and looked for a t-shirt to put over his bare chest. In spite of the fact that Blaine had probably seen a lot more of Kurt than he'd wanted to last night, the dancer still felt uncomfortable walking around a stranger's house half-undressed, which was ironic, considering what he did for a living.

He walked into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him. As soon as he peered into the mirror, Kurt gaped at his reflection in horror. Vaguely, he remembered some ordeal about glitter last night. Obviously, it hadn't been remedied. He tried to scrub the abominable stuff off of his face to only a medium amount of success. "I am going to kill David when I get a hold of him," Kurt muttered to himself, giving up on the remaining glitter and starting to rake his hands through his hair to put it in some degree of order before he saw Blaine.

Finally reaching a point where he was satisfied, Kurt left the bathroom. A delicious smell was filling the apartment, and Kurt followed it to what he assumed would be the kitchen. It was a fairly small place, so he didn't have to go too terribly far. The kitchen and living space were separated by a bar, where Blaine was sitting. He had a pair of glasses pushed up on his nose and was examining a newspaper – Kurt was amused when he noticed that it was two days old.

The other man didn't notice him until Kurt cleared his throat lightly. "Oh!" Blaine exclaimed, setting down his paper hurriedly. He clamored to a standing position and almost fell over his feet in his haste to approach Kurt. "Hi! I mean, you're awake. I've been waiting. Well, I haven't been _waiting_, but I've been…uh." Blaine flushed to the roots of his ebony hair and Kurt didn't bother to hide his smile.

Blaine's eyes drifted down to Kurt's torso, where his own shirt sat. "I hope you don't mind," Kurt said, suddenly self-conscious. "I wasn't sure where my things were."

"Over there," Blaine said, moving to the kitchen counter. He nodded toward a coffee table where Kurt's clothes sat, folded. "They still smell like booze and perfume, but I Febreze'd them, so they're a little better now."

"You…sprayed Febreze on my things?" The corner of Kurt's mouth twitched upward in an amused smile. His eyes drifted to where Blaine was piling things on a plate. "You made breakfast, too? How much do I have to pay for this?"

Blaine blushed again. "It's on the house," he murmured. "Omelette or French toast?"

"Both," Kurt said, leaning his elbows on the counter.

Blaine turned toward him and smiled. "Both it is." He plated both foodstuffs and poured two glasses of orange juice, setting Kurt a place next to him at the bar.

"About last night," Kurt started.

"Ah," Blaine interrupted quickly with a shake of his head. "We really don't have to talk about that."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Kurt continued. He wasn't sure why _Blaine_ looked uncomfortable when he was the one who had embarrassed himself so magnificently. Maybe he was simply embarrassed for Kurt's sake. "I didn't…I mean, I remember most of what happened, but we didn't…did we?"

"What? No. _No_!" Blaine waved his hands around in front of him, the hue of his cheeks getting redder by the minute. "I mean not that you aren't…but no, we didn't."

"Okay," Kurt said, turning back to his plate and taking a bite of French toast. "I know that everyone says this, but I never do these kinds of things. Did I embarrass myself very badly?"

Blaine chuckled. "Probably, but think of it this way: you'll never see any of those people again, so what does it matter?"

"I'll see you again."

Blaine's laughter faded and he observed Kurt warily, as if he might yell that he was joking at any moment. "Will you?"

Kurt shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "I said that we'd meet again, didn't I? And we did, albeit in a weird circumstance. Don't you believe in fate?"

"No." That had not been the answer Kurt was expecting, and the shock on his face showed it. "I mean…maybe. I believe…man, I have no idea."

"Maybe fate can only carry you so far," Kurt said. "You have to carry yourself the rest of the way."

"That sounds plausible," Blaine replied with a small smile. "So…um…what exactly _do_ you remember?"

Kurt thought about the question before answering. "I remember my friend leaving and telling me that I'd better stay or else I'd regret it when I'm forty and friendless." Blaine chuckled. "I remember thinking it was exceptionally funny that women were hitting on me. I remember you and your…um, friend, showing up out of nowhere and carting me off. Then you brought me here and…um…you know, some other stuff." Now it was Kurt's turn to flush and look away. "So thank you, for not just leaving me there for goodness knows what to happen."

"You hardly seem like you need more to happen to you," Blaine said. Kurt looked at him curiously. "I mean…doesn't it take one person hiding secrets to recognize another?"

Kurt thought that was awfully presumptuous of the other man, but it happened to be true. Maybe he was right. They settled into an awkward silence, in which Kurt wasn't quite sure of what to say. He was in another man's apartment, in his clothes, eating his food. He felt obligated to keep up the conversation somehow. The most obvious place to start would be the very beginning.

"I feel like we're going backwards," Kurt teased with a smile. "You've come to my rescue twice now, and yet I hardly know anything about you beyond your name. So? Who are you, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine suddenly looked awkward. "I'm no one."

"Oh, now that isn't true," Kurt said, reaching out to nudge Blaine's barstool and make him sway gently. "Come on."

* * *

><p>"Come on," Kurt urged him. Blaine was trying not to stare too long at Kurt's face, because <em>dear Lord<em> he was attractive. Now that it was the morning and he was well-rested, Blaine found him even more so. Maybe it had something to do with the way the morning light played off of Kurt's pale features.

When he'd woken up that morning, Blaine realized that sometime during the night, his arms had wound their way around Kurt's body, and the other boy's had grabbed onto his hands, securing their embrace. He was infinitely glad that he'd woken up before Kurt, for several reasons. First of all, the boner he'd woken up with was more than obvious, and second…well, there wasn't much of a second.

Now Kurt wanted to _know_ things about him. If Blaine didn't know better, he would say that this was almost a date. It was like a strange morning after date, in spite of the fact that nothing had even happened the night before. "Okay," he said slowly. "I grew up in Ohio." He noticed a shift in Kurt's facial expression, but the other man didn't speak. "I transferred to a private high school after…some things happened at my public school."

"Some things," Kurt repeated quietly.

"You know," Blaine said, looking into Kurt's sapphire eyes. "Or maybe you don't. Being a gay teen in Ohio wasn't the easiest thing in the world."

"…I can imagine."

"So, hmm, let's see…I transferred and things were better, at school at least. Then when I graduated, I moved here on my own."

"No college?" Kurt asked, sipping his orange juice.

"It's a long story," Blaine said distantly. He was glad that Kurt didn't press the matter.

"You moved here because of your music, then?"

"More or less," Blaine said with a wry grin. "I'm still trying to figure out if it's working."

"Well, when was the last time you wrote something?" Kurt asked excitedly.

"Oh…not too long ago," Blaine said, picking at his eggs. He didn't know why, but suddenly he was telling Kurt everything. "I hadn't had a song idea in ages, but suddenly, after you left the Laundromat, one just popped into my head."

"Let's hear it, then!" Kurt begged.

Blaine's eyes skittered over to where his guitars laid against the wall. "Oh, you really don't want to hear it. It's rough and uh…not completely finished." Kurt stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, and Blaine knew that the battle was lost. "Oh fine," he conceded. He blushed pre-emptively at what he was going to say next. "I guess I sort of wrote this for you. Don't laugh, okay?"

Kurt smiled. "I would never."

Nervously, Blaine began to pick at the strings. The tune soon flowed more naturally, coming from his fingers like they were second nature.

_Say, wasn't that a funny day?_

_Gee, you had a funny way – a way about you_

_A kind of glow of something new_

_Sure, I'll admit that I'm the same_

_Another sucker for a game kids like to play_

_And the rules they like to use_

Blaine's heart thudded in his chest as he approached the refrain. Technically, it was all true, but thinking it and writing it down versus actually singing it to Kurt were two entirely different things. Oh, why had he ever agreed to do this? He should have just said he didn't have any new material. But it was too late now, and he was far too nervous to try to make something else up on the fly.

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

Kurt was smiling. He didn't look freaked out by the lyrics at all. In fact, he kind of looked like he was enjoying them. Confidence slightly renewed, Blaine continued.

_The sun, telling me the night is done_

_Well, I refuse to let it stop our fun_

_Close your eyes, we'll make it dark again_

_And kiss…there's a thought, so how about this?_

_Let's pretend that both our lips are made of candy_

_After all, we need sweets every now and then_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

Kurt was still smiling; that was a good sign. Blaine had never written anything for anyone before; this was an entirely new experience. Usually, his songs had to do with his real world problems. He'd never written anything about hopeful love. It felt different to sing, but not completely unwelcome. He was enjoying the way that Kurt was beaming at him, like for that brief moment he'd managed to capture the brilliance of the sun in a few short verses.

_Here we are, two strangers in a very different place_

_Who knows what could happen to us next?_

_Here we are with nothing but this little spark_

_It's too cold outside to lay this fire to rest_

_Go? How so very apropos_

_A goodbye just as soon as I said 'hello'_

_Well alright, I'll see you later_

_It's true: just a fantasy for two_

_But what's the difference if it all could have been true?_

_I guess this is better_

Blaine had been alternating between glancing down at his guitar, closing his eyes, and looking generally every place but in Kurt's eyes. Not able to keep it up, he broke the trend. Kurt was smiling his small, mysterious smile, his feet kicking back and forth in the air above the ground on the stool. His shoulders were moving in time with the rhythm and it didn't take Blaine more than a second to see he had an ear for the beat. What's more, his eyes never left Blaine's face.

_But don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

_Oh, don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

_Don't you want the way…that I feel for you?_

When Blaine stopped playing, his nervousness set back in. Kurt's small smile grew into a bona fide grin, and he clapped enthusiastically. "God, you're a beautiful singer," he said. "I – I mean…you sing beautifully!" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You wrote that for me?"

Realizing that he might have over done it, Blaine looked away and set down his guitar gingerly. "It's just a song."

"No one's ever done anything like that for me before," Kurt told him. "It was…_beautiful._" He paused pensively. "So…was it true?"

Blaine bit his lip. "Well, you know, when inspiration hits you can't really help what you write." Under Kurt's searching gaze, Blaine found all of his excuses crumbling to nothing. "Uh, yeah…yes, it is true."

If possible, Kurt's smile got even wider, as if he were extremely pleased with himself for some reason. "I see," he said quietly. "And, hypothetically, if I felt the same way…why should anything happen? You've already professed yourself a runner."

"You said yourself that I just needed to find someone I didn't want to run from," Blaine pushed, feeling daring. He walked back toward the counter slowly.

"Do you plan on it?" Kurt asked, peering at Blaine from under his lashes. "Running I mean?"

"This is my apartment, I don't plan on going anywhere," Blaine replied coyly. Kurt's eyebrow rose. "Let's see…you're in my clothes, in my apartment, and I'm feeding you…"

"Which means," Kurt interrupted, standing up abruptly. Blaine had steadily approached him, so upon Kurt's movement, their faces were close together. "Next time it's my turn."

"Next time?" Blaine asked breathlessly. He didn't know what crazy external power was driving him, but it was certainly unlike anything else that had ever ruled his actions before. Kurt was staring down at him with those twinkling blue eyes and mischievous wide grin; Blaine thought that he probably would have promised the other boy anything in that moment, which was a frightening prospect. "Like tonight?"

"Maybe."

"At eight?"

Kurt's smile faded, and his flush paled. "Uh…better make it six thirty."

Reality hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. "Oh! You're...I mean, of course, you're working." Kurt's lips pursed together tightly, like he didn't want to admit to it.

"Six thirty is perfect," Blaine said, trying to quickly get past the awkward moment. "No time is too early to begin acclimatizing for meal times when we're in retirement homes."

His teasing joke worked and Kurt cracked a smile. "Pick me up?" he asked, looking at Blaine with wide, sparkling eyes.

"Oh, _God_, yes. I mean sure!" Color filled Blaine's cheeks again. He was sure that pretty soon, they would stay that hue forever. "Just write down your address." He beamed at the back of Kurt's head as the other man wrote down his address and number on the pad of paper Blaine pushed toward him.

"I better get going," Kurt said. Blaine was pleased to hear that he sounded a bit rueful, as if he didn't actually want to leave. "Do you mind?" He touched the hem of the shirt he was wearing. "I'll bring them back."

"Oh, not at all!" Blaine was a bit smug that Kurt would be going home in his clothes. "Take them – no hurry."

"Thank you." Kurt grabbed his own clothes and tucked them under his arm. He turned toward Blaine before he left. "And thank you for…everything."

"My pleasure," Blaine said honestly. He walked with Kurt toward the door and held it open for him. "I'll see you tonight, six-thirty."

* * *

><p>"Six-thirty," Kurt repeated with a nod, stopping in the doorway. Suddenly compelled, he moved forward and kissed Blaine's cheek lightly, closer to his lips than anything else. From there, he moved his lips toward Blaine's ear. "I'll see you then, mon oiseau chanteur."<p>

Kurt's wide smile stayed on his face as he pulled back, waved his fingers in farewell, and moved down the hall. He heard the door shut behind him and only then did he let himself put a little jump in his step. His smile grew from coy to goofy the more he thought about what had happened. Even the fact that he was about to travel across New York City in nothing but pajamas that were too short for him didn't bother Kurt in the least.

"You there." A voice from behind Kurt made him jump. He swirled around to face a greying old man, who stood in the hall against a closed door. Kurt sincerely hoped he hadn't been there when he had walked past, because he certainly hadn't noticed him. "Tinkerbelle."

"Um…_me_?" Kurt asked incredulously.

"Yes, you!" The old man gestured for Kurt to come closer. Hesitantly, he obliged. "You just came out of Blaine Anderson's apartment."

"Yes…"

"Blaine Anderson is a nice boy."

Kurt nodded his head warily. "He's nice, yes."

"Last night you were heavily intoxicated."

"Oh," Kurt said slowly, realization and recognition dawning on him. "Oh! Yes, I saw you last night. Your name is…oh shoot, what was it? Mr. Hillard!"

Mr. Hillard smiled. "What's your name then, Tinkerbelle?"

"Kurt Hummel."

"Well, Tinkerbelle, are you planning on coming back here? Blaine Anderson is a nice boy."

"He's…nice, yes," Kurt repeated, beginning to think that Mr. Hillard wasn't the sanest of neighbors. "I – I don't know if I'll be coming back. I hope so." Kurt blushed as he revealed the information.

Mr. Hillard was quiet for a few moments. Kurt was about to walk away when he spoke again. "Blaine Anderson has had too many heartbreaking relationships. He had a good heart…but he's fragile. Don't do it to him again, Tinkerbelle. Don't break Blaine Anderson's heart."

Kurt was shocked into momentary silence. "I won't," he said finally. "Don't worry, Mr. Hillard, I don't ever plan on breaking his heart."

Mr. Hillard nodded benignly and shuffled back into his room, leaving a baffled Kurt in his wake.

* * *

><p>Blaine nodded dumbly as Kurt pulled away from him and offered up a wide smile. "I'll see you," he said after Kurt's retreating back. He gaped after him for only a few moments before shutting his door and settling for watching him walk away through the peephole, which didn't seem quite as creepy as staring after his back.<p>

"Wow," Blaine whispered, turning toward his apartment and leaning against the door to catch his breath.

"Wow." He walked toward the counter where Kurt had written his information and stared at the number there.

"_Wow!_" Happiness bubbling inside of him, Blaine ran to his bedroom, stuffed his face into the pillows of his bed, and let out his pent up excitement in a short scream and a brief flailing of his limbs. With that out of his system, the man flipped over on his side to look at the faint dent that Kurt's sleeping form had left in his mattress. His eyes traveled up to the pillow, where specks of glitter held on. That had been just what he was afraid of last night, but right now he couldn't be happier about their presence. He buried his nose into the bed and inhaled deeply. Along with the musky cologne smell that usually accompanied his clothes and linens, there was a crisp, fresh smell that could only be Kurt.

Smiling wider than he had in ages, Blaine failed to realize that for the first time in many years, he really and truly didn't feel alone. For those few brief moments, Kurt had done what he'd wanted someone to do for ages: he'd made everything else go away.

* * *

><p>The goofy smile on Kurt's face stayed there all the way to his apartment, where it fell suddenly from his face when he saw who was waiting for him. "Oh great," Kurt whispered to himself as Dave saw him and began waving frantically, as if Kurt could somehow avoid him even though he sat right outside his door. "David," he said when he approached the other man. He stuck his key in the lock and opened the door to his apartment.<p>

"Kurt!" Dave looked at him wonderingly. "What in God's name are you _wearing_? Oh my…are those pajamas?" A grin spread across his face. "Those aren't even _yours!_" He grabbed Kurt by the shoulder gleefully and gave him a good shake of disbelief. "Whose are they, Kurt? Whose belongs to those pajamas? I mean – well, you know. Ah! You're holding your clothes. Those are the clothes you wore last night. This is totally your first walk of shame."

"It isn't a walk of shame," Kurt muttered, shrugging Dave's hands off of him.

"I called you last night to ask if you'd gotten home alright," Dave continued. "Then again this morning, but it doesn't look like you needed help at all!" He winked at the other man.

"David," Kurt whined. "Didn't I say last night that we most certainly are not middle school girls? We aren't doing this."

"Oh come on," Dave coerced. "You don't have to give _all_ the sexy details, just give me the spark notes version!"

"Fine," Kurt said, crossing his arms. "I saw an acquaintance at the club. I was drunk so he took me back to his apartment so I wouldn't get in trouble. End of story. Happy?"

David's face fell. "That's _it_?" He sighed. "Oh well, at least you didn't run away the moment I left, like I was afraid you'd do. What are you doing the rest of the day anyway? I was thinking that we could catch a movie before going in to The Adonis. I've been dying to see…Kurt? What is it?"

Kurt had cleared his throat and was looking around shiftily. "Tonight isn't actually the best. Can we reschedule?"

Dave's eyebrows rose higher than Kurt thought was possible. "Tonight isn't the best? But _every_ night is the best night for you. Does this mean…you have _plans_?"

"Don't act so disbelieving," Kurt said defensively. He began to pace around his apartment and randomly tinker with anything tinker-able. "I'm a very eligible gay bachelor, I'll have you know."

"Oh, _I_ know that," Dave said. "But I didn't think _you_ did." Kurt didn't grace him with a reply. "So, who are you going out with?" Kurt stayed silent. "Oh don't tell me…is it the guy whose pajamas you're wearing?" Kurt's silence was answer enough. "Kurt! When you said 'acquaintance', I didn't think you meant 'hot, gay, single man'."

"Well then," Kurt said, clearing his throat. In spite of his bland tone, his silly smile crept onto his face again.

Dave saw his change of expression, his own face grew excited. "Okay, sit down right this second. You're going to tell me everything about him."

Caving in to his inner preteen, Kurt almost skipped over to where Dave sat on his couch. "Alright fine, but just this once!" His expression grew far away as he tried to pick a place to start. He finally resolved that the beginning would be best. "Dave," Kurt warned. "Right now, you aren't my manager, okay? Please, _please_ leave that persona behind, just for a moment, and be nothing more or less than my friend."

Dave nodded dismissively but Kurt knew he didn't have any idea about what Kurt was going to reveal. "His name is Blaine Anderson. He's just the sweetest, strangest, most awkward man ever. And…he was the one who tackled that blonde off of me, at The Adonis. You remember."

David's floored expression told Kurt that yes, he most certainly did remember. "As your manager," Dave started, making Kurt grimace, "I'd say that it is one hundred and twenty percent against the rules to bring your work into intimate levels. But…as that friend you requested, I have to say that might be the most adorable thing I have ever heard in my life."

Kurt smiled with relief. "Right, I'm going out on a date with the guy who tackled an attacker off of me while I danced half-naked at the strip club where I work. That's _so_ romantic." He shoved Dave playfully, who rolled his eyes and took the mockery. "But in all honesty, Dave, he's just so…I don't even have words to describe him."

Dave smiled at Kurt widely. "Oh my God, look at you. You already have it bad, my friend."

"I do _not_ have it bad," Kurt protested, though his hot cheeks and goofy smile cancelled out that claim.

"Can I stay here and see him? Please? Just one look."

"Absolutely not."

"He won't even see me, I promise."

"Dave, absolutely not, I don't want to say it again."

"Kurt, I can fire you, you know."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

Dave smiled angelically. "Try me."

* * *

><p>At six o'clock that night, Dave was still at Kurt's house, and Kurt himself was busy freaking out. "I don't want to dress too fancy, but I don't want to look like a total slob either."<p>

Dave rolled his eyes. "You never look like a slob. Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in overdressed."

Kurt had to physically restrain himself from knotting his hands in his perfect hair. "Every public area _is_ a runway, but if I look fabulously chic and he looks casual, it will offset our whole aesthetic, which will ruin _everything_. I haven't been on a real date in…_I don't even know how long it's been_."

"Too long," Dave said as he flipped through Kurt's Cosmo magazine. "That must be why you're so uptight."

Kurt stuck his head around the corner. "_I am not uptight, David Karofsky_."

"Okay, you aren't uptight," Dave said benignly, eyes never leaving the magazine.

"I mean it, I'm not. Why would you say that? What would even make you think that?"

"I said you're not uptight, Kurt. You're not panicked or frantic or completely hysterical, either."

Kurt finally emerged, done up in a colorful ensemble complete with a bowtie. "Well you certainly look…Kurt. Good luck getting him into your pants though, because I don't think you'll be able to take them off."

Kurt gasped. "These jeans are fabulous, David, and you're just jealous that you can't pull them off." He ran a hand along his form-fitting – _extremely_ form-fitting white jeans self-consciously.

"Extremely jealous. What happened to no white after Labor Day?"

Kurt scoffed. "Oh, please. That's just an excuse made up by people who –" Kurt's eyes narrowed. "You're making fun of me. That's it, I'm changing."

"No, no, Kurt, don't change," Dave said, springing up and planning a hand on Kurt's arm. "I'm your best friend; it's my job to tease you. Honestly, I'm just glad that you're so involved in this night. I think it's good for you."

Kurt looked away uncomfortably. "Because before this I was depressed and self-pitying?" he asked scornfully.

"Yep," Dave said simply, flopping back on the couch.

Kurt was about to retort when the doorbell rang, sending him spiraling into panic. "Oh my God, that's him. It's only six-twenty! He isn't supposed to be here yet, what happened to fashionably late? I'm not ready. I'm not ready. Oh, but he's waiting out there!"

As he scampered around, grabbing his jacket, keys, phone, and other things he would need, Dave hurried to the door to look through the peephole. "Aw, look at him!" Dave exclaimed too loudly for Kurt's comfort. "How sweet! Kurt, he's wearing a bowtie, too! Aw, you guys will totally match." He tried to pinch Kurt's cheeks as the other man came to push him away. "Can I get a picture? I want to put it on the fridge."

"David," Kurt whispered heatedly as he scuffled with his friend. "Go somewhere else! You're ruining my hair. We are no longer friends!" Suddenly, Dave stopped struggling and beamed at him. Kurt surveyed his friend nervously. Butterflies were running rampant in his stomach, making him think that they'd actually fled the premises and had been replaced by something with a wingspan of at least five feet. "In all honesty though…how do I look?"

"Perfect," Dave said, tugging lightly on Kurt's collar to straighten it out. "Get out of here, handsome, before I jump you and force you to cancel your evening." He shoved Kurt lightly as the dancer flushed at Dave's compliment and turned around toward the door.

"Hi Blaine," he said breathlessly as he opened the door.

"Hi!" Blaine was, indeed, wearing a bowtie, along with a black, short sleeved button up. Kurt couldn't help but noticed that it hugged his defined chest in a distractingly snug manner. All in all, he very much approved. "Kurt…you look…uh." Blaine stared.

Kurt's mouth turned up in a giggle which sounded both alien and yet extremely welcome at the same time. "You look 'uh' too, Blaine. Very 'uh'. Do you want anything before we go?"

"N-no, I'm good," said Blaine, seeming to recover from his brief stint with speechlessness. He flashed Kurt a brilliant smile that made Kurt want nothing more than to pause time and spend eternity deciding whether to look at his glittering amber eyes or flawless smile. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Kurt asked, shutting his door, and therefore Dave, out of their conversation – though he was sure the bigger man was already watching through the peep hole.

"Mhmm," Blaine said with a self-satisfied nod. "Come on!" Heart still fluttering in his chest, Kurt followed Blaine out of the apartment and into the snowy street.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Of course, the song "Don't You" is courtesy of our own lovely Darren Criss :) Rest assured, I'm not the type that blurs Blaine and Darren together, but I didn't want to take any song by another artist and rob them of due credit. Besides, I thought "Don't You" fit nicely!_

_Also, mon oiseau chanteur is (supposedly) French for songbird :) I thought it was cute, and since I don't actually speak French, I enlisted the help of my dear friend Google Translate. If any French speakers out there know of a better way to say 'songbird', let me know!_

_Thanks, as always, for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4 :: First Date

_A/N: Hey guys! I'm SO sorry about the length of this chapter. It's almost painfully short but it's exam and research paper time in school already and I haven't updated anything in AGES. I just wanted to get something out there to show people that I'm still alive and haven't forgotten my fics!_

_Despite the length, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>In retrospect, Kurt figured that he should have expected something strange for Blaine's surprise. But he had also figured that an evening event going by the name of "date" would entail something…elegant. What he did not expect was to be seated among a crowd of children – and a surprising number of young adults vicariously reliving their childhoods – in the theatre for The Lion King 3D.<p>

In spite of his initial surprise, Kurt wasn't off put by Blaine's strange idea of a date in the least. He didn't even remember the last time he had done something so normal.

"You look silly," Blaine remarked as Kurt put on his 3D glasses. The dancer had waited until the commercials started rolling to adopt his non-stylish frames. Blaine, on the other hand, had them on almost before they were seated.

"Ah, but you look so normal," Kurt said with good-natured sarcasm.

"You didn't let me finish," Blaine said. "You know, platypuses look silly, but they also manage to look cute."

"So you're…comparing me to a platypus," Kurt said slowly. "I'm not sure how I should take that."

Blaine's mouth quirked up in a smile so infectious that it brought one to Kurt's face as well. "Have you _seen_ a platypus? They're adorable."

"_Shh_," came a hissing voice from several rows in front of them. Blaine turned to Kurt and shrugged, a guilty smile on his face.

"This was my favorite when I was growing up," Kurt whispered as the Walt Disney logo came on the screen.

"No way," Blaine countered. "What about Aladdin?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, sneaking a peek at Blaine through his peripheral vision. "I always liked this story better. His father…the most important person in his life, his _idol_…he died, and Simba thinks it's his fault." Kurt tried to keep his voice level as he spoke. It was strange irony that his favorite Disney movie growing up had become the story of his life. "So he runs away, with no friends to lean on or people to support him, but he finds someone to love him anyway. After all that, he's still able to claim his rightful place as King of Pride Rock. _Everyone_ respects him in the end."

When Kurt turned to look at Blaine, he was gaping. Having been caught, Blaine cleared his throat at looked toward the screen. "Except for those mean lions in the sequel," he said, attempting a joke. He turned to Kurt with a kind smile. "But I suppose that in the end, even they did. You're right."

Kurt turned away from Blaine's curious gaze, unable to look him in the eye any longer. He could feel his heart swell as the emotional music of the opening scene began. In spite of the fact the he knew neither the real words nor what they meant, Kurt believed it was one of the most beautiful songs in the movie.

Out of the blue, a voice from his left began nonsensically singing along with the song. Startled, Kurt realized that it was Blaine, and he was nudging him in the elbow for him to join. Kurt shook his head frantically, sure that an angry mob would bombard the poor oblivious boy any second.

Then, from several seats away, a second person began to sing along. A third followed from the front of the theatre, then a fourth. Mouth opening in surprise, Kurt looked around as at least half of the people in the theatre, good voices and out of tune ones, began to sing their own interpretation of what the words sounded like.

Blaine had stopped nudging him but was staring at him expectantly. Kurt hesitated; he hadn't sung in public since his days on Broadway, before the accident that changed his life. But Blaine was beaming at him with a million watt smile that made him want to do whatever the other man requested of him. Before he could second guess himself, Kurt simply let go of his inhibitions. He opened his mouth and began singing along in his smooth countertenor, the vast majorities of his worries left behind, if only for that hour and a half.

They left the theatre laughing. When _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ had come on, Blaine had carefully reached over to take Kurt's hand, and the other man hadn't pulled away, even after the movie ended and the lights turned on. Blaine was feeling extremely good about the night, and it was only half over.

"I _cannot_ believe that the crowd sang every song," Kurt said with a chuckle as they left the theatre in favor of the cold, snowy street. "I thought for certain you were going to get attacked by some disgruntled movie goer."

"Even adults have their inner child hiding inside of them somewhere," Blaine told him. "Stuff like that just brings it out." He hailed a cab and gave the driver directions.

"Where are we going?" Kurt asked, slightly confused.

"You still want that surprise, don't you?" Blaine asked him.

Kurt blinked at him. "That wasn't the surprise?"

"Of course not!" Blaine couldn't help but smile at the shocked look on Kurt's face, as if he couldn't believe someone had thought up two things to do for him rather than just one. "It was only part one. There's a sequel."

"A sequel," Kurt repeated, as if he didn't quite understand the meaning of the word. Blaine smiled at him mysteriously and shook his head, indicating that he wasn't going to give away the surprise beforehand. The last thing Kurt expected was to pull up along the curb next to Le Bernardin, arguably the best French restaurant in New York. "What is _this_?"

"Part two," Blaine said, hopping out of the cab and holding the door open for Kurt.

"Blaine this is _Le Bernardin_," Kurt said, as if Blaine didn't know where they were going. "You need reservations a million years in advance, and it's so expensive!"

Blaine smiled as he recalled exactly how he'd gotten a spot at the famous restaurant. After Kurt had left, he'd quickly gone to look up what "mon oiseau chanteur" meant. He'd recognized the French, but calling someone "songbird" in a different language wasn't something you learned from high school lessons. Blaine had quickly surmised that Kurt must have had some interest in French culture. He'd quickly called Jeff, who he knew had gone to school for photography. Since then, Blaine had heard about bits and pieces of his friend's success as a food photographer for high-scale restaurants publicizing their dining. It had sounded a bit silly to Blaine at the time, but now he was thankful for Jeff's random line of work.

He had asked advice, and it turned out that Jeff was friends with many famous chefs, something Blaine would have never guessed. He didn't know the head chef of Le Bernardin, but a quick call had many strings being pulled, and an hour later, Jeff had called Blaine back, saying that he and Kurt would have a reservation that night, and the chef was even willing to cut their dining costs if Jeff would give him a discount for a photo session. The former Warbler had been happy to agree to the barter when he found out that the man Blaine was going out with was the incredibly drunken and glittery one from the night before.

"I know some people," he said truthfully. "Some really awesome people that can pull even the most steadfast strings, apparently."

Kurt was observing him strangely, as if Blaine had grown a second head, or suddenly sprouted wings. "You have connections," he said finally, cracking a smile. "I'll say. I thought you said you moved here on your own. I'm impressed by your…resourcefulness."

They were seen in by a helpful waiter, and Kurt suddenly felt almost underdressed. He was extremely glad he hadn't worn the sweater that had been a close second choice. He'd never been anywhere as fancy as Le Bernardin before, and he was relishing in every moment. He wasn't sure how a struggling musician like Blaine had managed to pull off such a feat, but since they were currently eating some of the best food in New York, he wasn't about to complain. If he had to wash dishes for a month as a result, he was willing to take that risk.

He didn't have the first idea about what to order, so he and Blaine ended up closing their eyes and pointing at the menu. It was a juvenile sort of game, but Kurt thought it was charming. When the waiter came over, Blaine also ordered a side of escargot, "because what better time to eat some snails than right now?" Kurt wasn't sure he agreed with that, but when the snails came he was daring enough to try a few.

The evening passed too fast; Kurt was dreading its end with every speeding second, because he knew he just had to go to work afterward. Before he knew it, a bill came – with a surprisingly small amount written on it. He haggled with Blaine for several minutes about paying before finally deciding to go Dutch.

"I hope I haven't kept you too long," Blaine said as they exited the perfect restaurant – one that Kurt would never forget. "I know you're probably pressed for time."

Kurt waved his hand. He was already a little bit late for his shift, but being best friends with the manager was good for nothing if not getting cut a little slack every now and then. "It isn't a problem, I promise." _And I didn't want to leave_.

Blaine seemed to hesitate. "Your apartment is just a little bit out of the way from mine if you want to share a cab back."

Kurt averted his eyes. "Actually, I should probably go straight to work." He wasn't sure what Blaine meant by the offer. He didn't seem like the type to move quickly, and by the blush coloring his cheeks, Kurt feared that Blaine might have thought he was purposefully escaping him.

A genuine smile crossed Kurt's face as he looked at Blaine. "I still can't believe you did all of this. You know, I'm not that difficult to impress."

"I wanted to," Blaine said with a crooked grin. "I don't know why you're surprised. You're worth doing extravagant things for, you know."

Kurt immediately colored. He hardly knew Blaine, and yet he was saying intimate things like that with complete confidence. Yet he felt like he _did_ know Blaine, and he still wanted to know more.

"You're not used to people saying things like that, are you?" Blaine asked suddenly.

"L-like what?" Kurt stuttered, wishing the embarrassing color would leave his cheeks.

"What I just said about you being worth extravagancy," he continued. "You act like…like you don't believe me."

Kurt smiled wryly. "There's still a lot you don't know about me. It would change your mind."

"I don't think so," the man replied with confidence. "But why don't you give it your best shot?"

Kurt's grin grew impossibly wide. "Blaine Anderson, you wouldn't happen to be trying to ask me out again, would you?"

"If I was?"

"I'd say that it was awfully presumptuous of you, mon oiseau chanteur," Kurt said, the nickname that he hadn't meant to give slipping from his tongue absentmindedly.

Blaine's unsure expression grew more confident upon hearing Kurt's words. "What about if I wasn't?"

"Then I would have to ask you out instead," Kurt said. "I have to do laundry again tomorrow. Maybe if we just happen to run into each other again we can decide when."

"What a weird coincidence," Blaine said, "this just happens to be my last clean outfit."

"Same time?" Kurt asked with a widening grin.

"I'll be there," Blaine answered.

Kurt hailed a cab and paused at its door. He almost desperately wanted to reach out his hand, grab the front of Blaine's shirt, and pull him closer for a fleeting kiss but he knew he wouldn't do it. His brain was much too logical. Acting on emotion had never done well by him and he didn't trust it now. It wasn't as if they were parting forever; he would see Blaine tomorrow. In fact, Kurt planned on seeing him many more times, which meant there would be many more times that would be a better time for such an action. He waved one last time, got in the car, and turned to watch Blaine's figure fade as the cab drove away.


	5. Chapter 5 :: Questions and Secrets

Blaine awoke at eight, without an alarm clock. When he had met Kurt by chance at the Laundromat before, the last thing that had been on his mind was checking his watch, but he estimated it to have been around eleven. Therefore, his time leading up to that hour were spent pacing, attempting futilely to preoccupy himself with television, and throwing clean clothes from his closet into a laundry bag.

At ten o'clock and with an idea for a brief stop that would take a few additional minutes, Blaine finally decided it was close enough to eleven to leave. "Morning, Mr. Hillard," Blaine said to his neighbor, who had somehow fastened a beach umbrella to the carpet and sat under it with a floppy hat and sandals. "You do know it's the dead of winter, don't you?"

"In Australia, they have Christmas in bathing suits on the beach," Mr. Hillard announced as he adjusted the brim of his hat.

Blaine shook his head and smiled indulgently. "Is that even true?"

"Truer than the fact that Italians eat squirrels."

Blaine let out a short laugh of surprise. "Anyways, Mr. Hillard, we're in New York City."

"Center of the universe," the old man said with a mystic smile.

Blaine gaped at him for a moment, trying to deduce whether the RENT reference had been purposeful or inadvertent. He finally settled on the determination that with Mr. Hillard, it was impossible to tell. "Don't catch pneumonia," Blaine advised, beginning to walk down the hallway. "I don't want to have to take you to the emergency room."

"Blaine Anderson," Mr. Hillard said as Blaine walked past. Blaine turned toward him, and the man looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. "You went to do laundry three days ago."

Blaine flushed and turned around again. "Yeah, yeah," he whispered. As he walked away, he heard Mr. Hillard start to chuckle.

* * *

><p>Two thirds of the way from Blaine's apartment to the Laundromat, there was a store called Yankee Berry. At ten thirty, Blaine walked out of the store with his laundry bag under his arm and two medium frozen yogurts in his hands. He had zero idea whether or not Kurt liked the frozen treat, or whether he'd want some before noon, but he'd gone anyway, for the sake of homage.<p>

He walked into the Laundromat five minutes later to see it completely deserted but for one person, perched on top of a dryer. "You're early."

Kurt looked up, startled, but a smile spread across his face when he saw who had spoken, which made Blaine's heart flop in his chest. "So are you," Kurt observed. His eyes travelled to the yogurts. "What's this?"

"Ah, it's uh…froyo," Blaine said, walking over to Kurt and dropping his bag on the ground. "Orange mango…I hope you don't mind."

"It's my favorite," Kurt said, reaching out to take the cup and a plastic spoon enthusiastically.

"Me too," Blaine said as he hopped hop to get on top of the dryer next to Kurt.

"What's the occasion?"

Blaine flushed. He had wondered if Kurt would ask him such a thing. "Have you ever seen Doctor Horrible?"

Kurt rolled his eyes with such dramatic realization that his head followed. "Of _course_. I remember. They would eat frozen yogurt together in the Laundromat." He observed Blaine strangely, as if seeing him in a new light. "Do you do stuff like this all of the time?"

"Stuff like what?"

Kurt shrugged and preoccupied himself with a spoonful of yogurt. "Like taking people to Disney movies and fancy restaurants, and then bringing them froyo because it was in Doctor Horrible."

"Actually," Blaine said. "No. I don't…not ever, really." He averted his eyes when he felt Kurt turn his head to look at him. "I might be what people classify as a bit of a hermit."

Something flashed behind Kurt's eyes but it was gone before Blaine could look twice. "I've been called that once or twice."

"How?" Blaine asked, swirling his spoon around and skimming a thin layer off of his yogurt. "Doesn't your job kind of demand you to be around people?"

"Yeah," Kurt said with a wry smile. "If by people you mean the people that tuck bills into your G-string and get off on you circling your leg around a pole."

Blaine blushed furiously and looked up at Kurt, startled. Even the other man's joking smile didn't banish his mortification. "I – I meant like, other dancers, or DJs…not…"

"I know what you meant," Kurt said with a teasing smile. "You don't have to act like anything you say or any way you react about what I do will offend me. I'm a tough cookie," Kurt winked, "and believe me, I've met many more people who are exponentially more offensive than you would ever be." Blaine met his statement with silence. It was one thing to lecture on the ethics of exotic dancing, it was another entirely to make light of it, like it was a joke. Blaine didn't want to do either one. "As for the people, I guess. I mean, they're acquaintances. I could probably pick a few that I'd want to have to a dinner party, or be around after hours." He shrugged. "The manager is my best friend though, and when you're best friends with the boss, people start calling out favoritism…getting jealous."

"Just like everywhere," Blaine said. When it came down to fundamentals, what Kurt did wasn't so drastically different from other businesses.

"Not with you," Kurt said, leaning closer. "You get to work for yourself, don't you?"

"You make it sound better than it is," Blaine said with a laugh. "If I want to play at a club or bar, I have to consult with management and schedule out a time and clear a set list with them. If I want to make a record, I have to find someone who will actually make it and convince them that I'm better than the dozens of other people who want to record. Then you have to deal with the rights to your songs, and weigh who you can or want to sell them to. If you know someone, it makes all of that easier." Blaine smiled. "Then people start calling out favoritism and getting jealous."

"Touché," Kurt said with a chuckle. He lifted a spoonful of orange mango to his mouth, and Blaine tried not to stare as his lips skimmed across the dessert, and his tongue flicked out briefly to halt a drip. "So…I know this is kind of strange. I mean, you saved me from someone and I thought I'd never see you again…and then all of this." Kurt gestured around him, probably to indicate "all of this". "You mentioned growing up in Ohio, but I really don't know much about you."

"What do you want to know?" Blaine asked, settling back against the wall comfortably. "That goes two ways, by the way."

"A question for a question?" Kurt asked. Blaine grinned widely and nodded. The Question Game was one of his lingering juvenile enjoyments that he doubted would ever disappear completely. "Okay then…the other night you said that you moved here on your own after you graduated. Why?"

"Don't bother starting with the easy ones," Blaine said sarcastically, though he softened his words with a smile. "I wanted to leave Ohio. I needed to find a place that would be more…accepting…you know?"

"Mmm," Kurt mumbled noncommittally.

"When did you come here, then? Or did you grow up in New York?"

"No," Kurt said with a smile. "Although I wished I had been born here all the way until I had the power to move myself here. I came here for college."

"Oh?" Blaine asked curiously. "What college?"

"Nu-uh," Kurt said, shaking his head. "One question."

"Aw, come on," Blaine begged, pulling out a pouty lip and puppy dog eyes. "That's like part A and B of the same question."

He saw Kurt's assurance flicker, but in the end it held. "Nope, my turn. Why on Earth haven't I heard any of your music on the radio?"

Blaine scoffed. "I guess because no one wants to listen to it."

"That isn't true."

"Well, thanks Kurt, but more people than one have to want an album to happen to set it in motion."

"Write a song about every person in New York," Kurt advised. "Then you'll have the entire city charmed and in the palm of your hand."

"Oh _really_?" Blaine asked, grinning slyly. He could hardly believe that the other man said that. Some of Kurt's obvious flirtations were actually veiled in a rounded statement such as the one he'd just given. But now that Blaine recognized it, there was no other way to take his insinuation.

"Maybe," Kurt replied elusively, looking at Blaine from the under his lashes and cementing his assurance. This wasn't in his imagination. Only a few months ago, he'd been screaming at Kenneth in his apartment about their one-sided relationship and not being able to feel anything no matter how hard he tried. Now, Blaine felt every glance heat his skin. Every laugh kicked up butterflies in his stomach. Every touch of Kurt's hand, given with subtle purpose or on accident, made him _feel_. Blaine felt around Kurt, and it didn't feel like the obligatory job his other relationships had. This felt right – _effortless_. It felt like it had been waiting there all along, for the right moment to come and Blaine to find it.

* * *

><p>"Maybe," Kurt said, the corners of his mouth tipping up. His heart was pounding. He was sure Blaine could hear it. He'd think he was some giddy teenager, which Kurt had been feeling more like every moment he was with Blaine.<p>

Dave had been waiting for him at The Adonis, and he hadn't let Kurt get changed until he had spilled every last detail about his date. He hadn't even attempted to hold back as he gushed about Blaine singing along with the movie and starting a trend, and the fancy restaurant he had taken him too. Dave had gaped when Kurt described the extent to which Blaine had gone for their first date, and then smiled slyly at the huge grin on Kurt's face. Twenty minutes had followed in which Dave had berated him for not kissing Blaine. Kurt had said it wasn't the right time.

As he looked at Blaine from under his lashes, he wondered if it was the right time now. It wasn't very romantic – sitting on a pair of dryers at the Laundromat – but it was where their paths had crossed again, and where Kurt had known that they weren't meant to go their own ways.

The silence between them had grown too long, and Blaine was looking at him too intensely. Kurt looked away suddenly, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks.

"My turn?" Blaine asked softly. Not able to find his voice quite yet, Kurt shrugged acquiescently. Blaine smiled and leaned toward him. "_What college_?"

An uneasy feeling kicked within Kurt's stomach. Nobody but Dave knew his story. Then again, Blaine wasn't asking for his story, he was asking what college Kurt had come to New York to go to. "Julliard," he said finally, observing Blaine carefully as his amber eyes widened in surprise. "I got into the Theatre Arts major and left home the summer after I graduated high school."

Blaine gaped at him for several moments before speaking. "_Wow._" He flushed. "If you graduated from Julliard…well, I'm sure that there were dozens upon dozens of jobs waiting for you."

Kurt smiled slowly, although he didn't find the situation funny. "It's another story," he said shortly. Blaine's brow dipped in confusion but he didn't say anything further. "As for you, well, you seem almost perfectly normal."

"Alright…"

"The last time we were here, you were acting completely miserable," Kurt said, a smile creeping onto his face. "As if you were the only one in the world whose life sucked." He paused. Kurt wanted to pick his next words with extreme care. "You said you came to The Adonis because you were just hoping to forget. Did you?"

Blaine stared across the room for a moment. He dragged his plastic spoon against the bottom of his empty Styrofoam cup contemplatively. "Yeah," he said finally. He looked at Kurt and smiled. "I was upset because a few months ago…it wasn't exactly that I was always sad, but that I was never _happy_. Nobody could make me smile. Nobody really ever has been able to, except you." Blaine shrugged. "I forget I ever felt like that when I'm with you…or thinking about you, or when I know I'm going to see you. You make me smile."

Kurt was shocked almost to stupidity, and a large goofy smile found its way onto his face. "So," he continued, feeling both daring and curious, which were a lethal combination. "You said that you were a runner." Kurt tucked his legs up to his chest and leaned his head on his knees. "When does that kick in?"

Blaine responded with a smile. "What exactly would I be running from?"

"Me," Kurt said, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He knew what Blaine was getting at. He wanted him to say the words: _a relationship_, or _boyfriend_. Kurt couldn't do it.

Blaine shook his head. He reached toward Kurt and gently traced the back of his hand before twining their fingers together. "You think I would, after what I just told you?"

"People leave all the time, whether they plan to or not." It had happened to him more times than was his due and he didn't doubt that it was likely to happen again.

"Not me," Blaine insisted. His hand traced up Kurt's arm lightly and he began to lean in. Kurt's breath caught in his throat, and his eyelids were beginning to flutter closed when a loud clamor came from the doorway.

Blaine sucked in a shaky breath and looked away, and Kurt let out a quiet sigh before opening his eyes. They looked at each other for a few seconds, before: "Kurt!"

Wanting to curse the interloper into the next century, Kurt clenched his jaw and turned to look at the person who had spoken. Upon seeing her, his jaw slackened and his face paled. "W-what are you doing here?" he asked. She was past middle age, with grey hair piled up onto her head and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on a button nose.

She pursed her lips and looked at him almost pityingly. "Doing laundry, dear, of course," she said, setting down a laundry basket. Kurt gaped at her. "It's nice to see you out around the city a bit."

"It's just laundry," Kurt replied tightly. Blaine shot him a quizzical look but Kurt didn't catch it.

She smiled and nodded, and only then did she seem to see Blaine. "Oh, hello! A friend, Kurt? I don't believe I know you," the woman said, holding out her hand.

"Uh…no, I don't think you do," Blaine said, returning her handshake. Kurt had to fight a grimace. Blaine didn't understand, and hopefully she would leave before he could. "I'm Blaine."

"Doctor Harlan," she introduced herself. With a wink, she added, "you can call me Sherri." Kurt had to fight not to grab Blaine's hand and run out of the Laundromat, leaving Sherri Harlan in their dust. "Kurt, I didn't see you last week."

"I was working," he replied shortly. He couldn't believe that the woman was talking about this. She didn't know how close he and Blaine were, or how much he had potentially told him. Had she even _considered_ the possibility that he didn't want Blaine to know certain things about his life? Weren't there laws that protected doctor patient confidentiality?

"At two in the afternoon?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Paperwork," Kurt responded tightly. "Renewing job contracts and all that." It was a boldfaced lie. He wasn't even sure if he needed to renew his job contract, or if anyone did. If he did, Dave must have been taking care of it for him all these years.

"We'll reschedule," she said with a placid smile. "Oops! I seem to have forgotten detergent. Watch my things, dear, I'm going to pop over to the corner store and get some. Be back in a jiffy!"

Blaine gaped after her as she retreated, and Kurt attempted to glare a hole into her back. "What a weird woman," Blaine remarked. "She managed to get a doctor's degree?"

Kurt cracked a smile. "She's a quack. She can't even prescribe medicine."

He could see the gears beginning to turn and eventually clicking together in Blaine's head. "_Oh._ She's a…"

"Feel like running now?" Kurt asked miserably. His stomach was suddenly in knots and he felt like he might throw up at any second. "She's a psychotherapist, emphasis on _psycho_."

Blaine was quiet for a few moments. "I thought you were okay with…what you do," he said slowly.

"It isn't about that," Kurt said, turning his head away. Blaine didn't understand. He couldn't. To him, being a stripper was probably the most emotionally scarring thing that he could think of. He couldn't fathom that Kurt's demons went far deeper than that. Little did he know, exotic dancing used to be Kurt's escape from all the things that were really wrong in his life – used to be, before Blaine had been there.

"We don't know each other very well," Blaine said slowly. "But you don't have to worry about…stuff like this, you know. My dad sent me to a shrink for five years before I left. It doesn't mean that you're crazy. For me it just meant that people didn't understand." Kurt felt Blaine reach out and take his hand again. "You're going to have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of me, Hummel."

Kurt smiled in spite of himself, and tightened his grip on Blaine's hand. "_Don't_…tempt me, Frodo," he teasingly quoted, turning to look at Blaine again.

Blaine dramatically clutched his heart with his free hand and tipped his head back. "My heart," he choked out. "You quote Lord of the Rings." Kurt smiled bashfully. In junior year right after their parents had gotten married, Finn had been nurturing a secret, well-closeted obsession with fantasy movies. He'd watched the trilogy numerous times, and Kurt had more than a few lines memorized. Of course, he wasn't about to tell that story to Blaine. That would lead to questions about where Finn was today, and those were questions that Kurt wasn't prepared to answer.

"I'd better get going," Blaine said, hopping off of the machine he had been sitting on. "The day doesn't wait."

"Nope," Kurt affirmed, letting his knees relax and hanging his legs over the side of the dryer.

"I'll call you," Blaine offered, backing up with his hands in his pockets.

Kurt bit back a grin and nodded. "Blaine!" he called before the other man left. Blaine turned back with an expectant look. "Forgetting something?" He pointed to the bag of laundry Blaine had left next to him.

Blaine bounced his palm off of his forehead and shook his head, making Kurt laugh. "You have me frazzled," Blaine said flirtatiously as he doubled back and grabbed the bag. He drummed his fingered against the dryer and then looked up at Kurt. "Two things," he said softly.

Before Kurt could register what he meant, Blaine was leaning up on his toes and tilting his head back as he pressed his lips softly against Kurt's. Kurt's breath caught in his throat. His hand moved to cup Blaine's jaw, and they deepened their kiss for a moment. Kurt's mouth parted, and he felt Blaine's tongue softly trace the underside of his top lip before the shorter man slowly pulled away and sunk back down onto his feet.

"I'm glad I reminded you," Kurt said. Blaine smiled a smile that made Kurt feel like they were the only two people in New York. He grabbed his bag and gave Kurt a small wiggle of his fingers before leaving.

Now alone, Kurt let out his pent up breath in an airy sigh. He pressed his fingertips to his tingling lips, relishing in the giddy feeling that was coursing through him. It was with a contented feeling that Kurt realized Blaine had never even put his clothes into a washing machine.

_A/N: Sorry these chapters are coming so infrequently! I can only blame it on university and the fact that I, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to take five classes when you're only supposed to take four. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter though! Let me know what you think :)_


	6. Chapter 6 :: Central Park

_A/N: If any writers are reading this, you know that there are those times when something you were expecting to be a normal scene turns out almost sickeningly adorable. This was one of those times!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Not a day went by that Blaine and Kurt didn't somehow get in touch, even if it was just for coffee. Almost three weeks after their first kiss and a week before Christmas, they decided to meet at a fountain in Central Park.<p>

"Oh my God," Blaine said, bursting into laughter as Kurt teetered toward him. "Are you in there somewhere or am I going on a date with the Michelin Man?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Kurt said, adjusting his scarves and hoods so that Blaine could see his face. "It's freezing out!"

"So you decided to layer," Blaine said. "And layer, and layer, and layer, and – ow!"

Kurt had reached over and punched him softly on the arm. "That didn't hurt," Kurt said as a smile crept onto his face. "It was a love tap."

Blaine's heart thundered against his ribs. Had he just…no. It was a figure of speech. Still… "A love tap?" Kurt seemed to have realized what he said as soon as it slipped out. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. Blaine, eager to change the subject, stood up from the bench he had been sitting on and nodded his head down a path. "Want to walk?"

This thing that he had with Kurt was different than any relationship he'd had before. It had been three weeks and neither of them had tried to do more than kiss. Blaine's body had wanted to, _screamed_ to even, but his mind said no. He would not mess this up. They had been to each other's apartments for at-home dinner dates and movie nights but neither ever stayed over nor asked if they could. Of course, Kurt had already spent a night in bed, but Blaine figured that was different. He'd been doing him a favor - he still stuck to that idea stubbornly - and they hadn't been together yet.

They hadn't had their "what is this thing that we're doing" talk yet, so their relationship remained undefined. Nevertheless, Blaine couldn't help but think of Kurt as his boyfriend. He knew that this was the point when he should be freaking out and running away, as he had before. However, he wasn't scared, and he didn't want to run. It was a wholly new experience and Blaine didn't want to spoil it by saying something he shouldn't, or making a move that would ruin whatever was going on.

"My plane leaves tomorrow," Blaine said as they began to work. Kurt turned to look at him quickly. Blaine had mentioned to Kurt that he was going home for the Christmas holiday, but he'd only bought his ticket the night before. "You wouldn't believe how hard it was to book a flight. I couldn't get anything closer to Christmas."

"Is that bad?" Kurt asked, his warm breath showing in puffs in the cold air. "You'll get to be with your family for longer. I mean, that's why you're going in the first place."

"Mmm, yeah," Blaine conceded. "We haven't talked much about our families, huh?" Blaine chuckled. "If we had, you'd have known that getting back together with my family, even once a year, isn't number one on my Christmas list."

"It can't be _that_ bad." Kurt looked out across the snow strewn path. He raised his fingers – clad in Charles Dickens-esque fingerless gloves – to his mouth and tried to warm them with his breath. "They're your family after all. I'm sure you could think of _one_ thing you like about going home."

"One thing?" Blaine asked, looking at Kurt with a grin. He didn't immediately follow his clarification with an answer. He just looked. The cold winter air had blown roses of color onto the apples of Kurt's cheek, and they stood out starkly on his pale skin. The tips of his elven ears had gone slightly pink with cold, as had the tips of his fingers. Scarves – more than one, Blaine was certain – draped across his neck. Sweaters, cardigans, and any number of coats and jackets, unidentifiable from one another in their layered chaos covered him. Based on the description alone, he sounded like a homeless man, but Kurt looked perfect. He looked like he'd just stepped off of the runway for an urban designer's winter collection, with his hair perfectly coifed and slightly windblown.

After a few moments of silence, Kurt looked around himself. "What?" he asked, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper. He made eye contact with Blaine and tilted his head. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Nothing that shouldn't be there," Blaine said, finally looking away. Kurt laughed softly and bumped their shoulders together as they walked. Their fingers brushed together, and Blaine's hand lingered there. He finally moved his hand around and linked their fingers together. "Cold," he commented, brushing his thumb against the back of Kurt's hand.

"Not for long," Kurt said. Blaine looked over to see him biting on his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of them.

Blaine inhaled the winter air. His lungs filled with a sharp sting of coldness but he welcomed it, as he did everything in this moment. "Well, you're right, of course," Blaine continued. "About there being one thing I can think of that I like when I go home. I always get to see Cooper."

"Oh." Kurt looked at Blaine through the corner of his narrowed eye. "Is he…an old boyfriend? I didn't think you had a good track record with old boyfriends."

Hiding a smile, Blaine looked at Kurt, who had his nose scrunched up in displeasure. "Cooper's my big brother," he corrected, watching Kurt's expression turn from displeasure to relief to curiosity. "We're actually really close. We Skype about once a week, but he's living in Los Angeles. We usually only get to see each other when we both go back home."

"You didn't tell me you have a brother," Kurt said in a strange voice. Blaine's brow furrowed momentarily. Not a moment later, Kurt was back to smiling and Blaine thought he imagined Kurt's strange reaction. "Why is he in LA?"

"I guess neither of us was cut out for small town Ohio life," Blaine said, his thumb tracing the back of Kurt's hand subconsciously. "We just happened to go in two different directions, literally. I think about that sometimes, how it would be nice to have him here in New York when stuff seems at its shittiest."

"But that isn't now," Kurt said, leaning into Blaine's side. They'd stopped walking in the middle of a small bridge, and they leaned against the side to look down at the frozen water, hands still linked.

"Definitely not now," Blaine agreed. "You're staying here then?"

Kurt mumbled indistinctly. "I have to work, unfortunately," he said quietly.

Blaine gaped. "On Christmas? Isn't that…I mean…is that a popular…d-do people…" He closed his eyes, sighed, and gave up on the thought, feeling ashamed of himself.

"Do many people go to a gay strip club on Christmas?" Kurt asked. "No, we're closed. Christmas Eve, however, is another matter entirely. Then I'll probably spend the actual day with David."

"I'd like to meet him sometime," Blaine commented, "if you want me to. He almost sounds like family, the way you talk about him."

"He may as well be," Kurt said. "He's helped me out a lot, but I guess that sentiment is mutual between me and him. We actually knew each other in high school. Then we both came here on our own. I knew he was living in the city somewhere, but I never met up with him even once, until about two and a half years after I came here."

Blaine observed Kurt curiously as he slowly revealed tiny bits about his life. Blaine listened attentively to everything Kurt said, which was how he knew it was exactly the second time Kurt had mentioned anything about his high school life, the first being that he left his hometown after graduating. "It's strange knowing someone from high school when you're here, isn't it?" Blaine asked, looking out over the ice. "It's someone you knew before turning into the person you are here. In my case, that's a really different person than I was in high school. They know both sides of you though. I kind of get that now that Jeff is here with his fiancé."

"Nightclub man?" Kurt asked, putting a horrified hand over his mouth. "I'd completely forgotten that your oldest friend here in the city saw me being a complete idiot that night."

Blaine laughed. "He thought it was charming and just a little bit naïve," he reassured Kurt. "I could tell you a million stories about Jeff to make you two even – things not even his fiancé knows. If he ever brings it up when you don't want him to, tell him that you don't think any story can compare to the one about his and Nick's experimental phase senior year." The fact that neither he nor Kurt had ever officially met any of the other's friends didn't bother Blaine. He figured they would get to that when they got to it. That was the view he largely took when thinking about the pace of his relationship with Kurt. Everything seemed to be flowing naturally, and Blaine trusted it to keep moving in such a way.

"Experimental phase?" Kurt asked, face perking up. "Ooh, that sounds exciting! Do tell."

Blaine shook his head. "Nope," he said. "That information is for emergencies only."

"Aw, come on," Kurt said, slipping his hand out of Blaine's. It took Blaine a moment to realize that it was for the purpose of two-handed tickle-persuasion. "_Please_, Blaine? I won't tell anyone! Straight guy experimental phases make _such_ fun stories."

Blaine gasped between fits of laughter. He tried to grapple with Kurt's hands but was losing spectacularly. "I'll stop if you tell me," Kurt bargained. The one-sided war had caused Blaine to back up to the far side of the bridge and onto the ground on the other side.

"I can't breathe," Blaine gasped out. "Oh God, I was hoping you never…found out that I'm…_ticklish!_ Kurt, I'm dying. I'm dying, I'm dead, I'm dying. You killed me."

"You're being dramatic," Kurt said, laughing. Blaine was wiggling around in his grasp, and had turned around so that he was in the circle of Kurt's arms. Blaine ducked his head down to try to loosen Kurt's grasp on him when he heard a series of noises sound quickly, one after another. First there was the sound of soft impact, then a cry of surprise from Kurt, who immediately let go of Blaine and stepped back as Blaine was showered with flakes of snow, even though it had ceased snowing yesterday. That was followed by a series of cackles from several yards away, and finally a string of swears and panicked fumbling noises.

Startled, Blaine tried to brush the snow away from his eyes. He spun around on the spot until he saw Kurt, who was teetering on the edge of a long hill that they must have made their way toward during the tickle war. He looked at Blaine with eyes that were wide and startled. His hands reached out and circled like windmills in an attempt to correct his balance. Observing the snow covering his face, Blaine had just enough time to deduce that it had been a snowball – probably thrown by the cacklers – that had set off this chain of reactions before Kurt ultimately lost his battle, fell backward, and began to roll down the hill like a snowball of layers. The whole thing had happened in no more than three seconds.

Stunned to a standstill, Blaine watched in horror as Kurt rolled down the hill in a rush of squeaks, squeals, and flailing, scrabbling limbs. As soon as his brain processed what was happening, Blaine quickly took off after Kurt. He tried to lift his legs high as he battled his way through the freshly fallen snow. Unfortunately, his progress toward Kurt didn't work out the way he'd wanted it to.

* * *

><p>Kurt had slowed to a stop at the bottom of the hill and he looked up through snow-dusted eyelashes to see Blaine flailing toward him at top speed, eventually crashing into the snow face-first about twenty feet away, and finally sliding to a standstill ten feet later.<p>

Laughing breathlessly, he slowly crawled his way over to where Blaine laid. Kurt reached under one of his arms and flipped Blaine around, so that he was on his back looking up at Kurt, who hovered over him, still laughing. Both of them were coated in snow from head to foot. It stuck in their hair and had worked its way into the folds of their clothes, but neither noticed the chill yet.

Gasping for air, Kurt laid his head on Blaine's chest. He could feel it moving up and down with Blaine's laughter. "You tried to come save me," Kurt said finally, when he had caught his breath.

"Tried being the key word there," Blaine said, still chuckling in spite of himself. Kurt smiled against the fabric of Blaine's jacket as Blaine lifted a hand and began to gently run it through Kurt's hair. Kurt inhaled, closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around Blaine as they stretched out next to each other on the snow. "I didn't know why I thought trying for the knight in shining armor thing would work for me."

"It worked for me," Kurt said simply, tipping his head so that his chin rested on Blaine's chest and he could look into his amber eyes.

Blaine had stopped laughing. He returned Kurt's gaze as a lazy smile played across his face. His hand moved languidly through Kurt's hair until Kurt moved and disrupted the pattern his fingers had been following. Kurt pulled himself into a sitting position and scooted closer to the upper half of Blaine's body. He saw a moment of disappointment cross Blaine's face – disappointment that they weren't laying together anymore? Kurt found the look amusing, if only because he didn't know Kurt's agenda.

Now closer to Blaine's head, Kurt leaned over him. With one hand, he reached up and touched Blaine's face. His fingers skimmed over Blaine's skin as he gently brushed away the soft snow that had stuck there. That hand fell to the snowy ground on Blaine's other side, right above his shoulder. He bit his lip as he saw Blaine's eyelashes flutter and lower his gaze momentarily to look at Kurt's lips.

Kurt leaned down, savoring the moment when Blaine's eyes finally closed and his chin tipped up fractionally. Softly, his lips chastely cradled Blaine's bottom lip, lingering there for several seconds before drawing away. He didn't move far; he could feel Blaine's breath on his face still. Their lips tickled off of one another's, and their noses brushed together in an eskimo kiss.

He leaned down and kissed Blaine again, this time opening his mouth slightly to accommodate a deeper kiss. Blaine's hands reached up and cupped Kurt's face as their lips moved together. Kurt leaned closer to Blaine so their chests pressed against one another. Their kiss was far from chaste now – they were caught up in their moment. One of Blaine's hands had moved to the back of Kurt's neck and he pulled his face close so they could kiss deeply.

Minutes went by that way – kissing, sighing, tasting, touching – until Kurt broke away, breathless. He pressed his now overheated cheek against Blaine's for a moment before turning his head to kiss Blaine's cheek lightly and then pulling away.

"Maybe I should make a fool of myself more often," Blaine said breathlessly.

"Maybe I should beat you at tickle wars more often," Kurt said. He leaned his chin on his hands, which made a platform on Blaine's chest. "I can't believe that those bastard kids threw a snowball at my face."

Blaine chuckled and turned his head to look up the hill. "They're gone now. Aw, that's too bad. They missed the show."

"Blaine!" Kurt said, blushing furiously and ducking his face into Blaine's jacket.

"What? They did!" Blaine opened his arm wider as Kurt, still chuckling, moved off of Blaine's chest and curled up by his side. "You know what this is?"

"Hmm?" Kurt mumbled, closing his eyes and wrapping an arm around Blaine's waist.

"A Kodak moment!" Blaine scrabbled in his jacket pockets for his phone. He finally found it and held it at arm's length above them. "Smile!" he instructed.

As Blaine counted down from three, Kurt looked over at him. At the count of one, instead of looking at the camera and smiling, Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips to Blaine's cheek. "Sorry," he said after the picture was taken. "I couldn't help myself."

Blaine averted his eyes in a bashful manner that Kurt wasn't used to. "I think that's probably an unnecessary apology," Blaine said, bringing up the picture and showing it to Kurt.

"Oh my gosh," Kurt said, grabbing the phone and holding it closer to get a better look. Blaine had somehow centered their faces perfectly so that you could still see that they were lying on the snow, as well as how Kurt's arm circled around Blaine. Both of them had snow in their hair and on their clothes. His own face looked serene, his eyes closed as his chin tipped forward to press his lips against Blaine's cheek. He had timed the kiss perfectly, so that Blaine's reaction was caught by the camera. His face had broken out in a huge, white-toothed smile, making the apples of his cheeks stand out. Even his eyes looked like they were laughing – they had crinkled at the edges so that they appeared almost closed. "Text it to me? That way I'll have it to remember you by while you're gone."

"Which will be as short of a time as possible," Blaine said, tapping through menus until he was able to add the picture to a text message. Kurt smiled as Blaine only added a less-than-three to the text box. "I'll be back before New Year's. Any longer than that, and I don't trust Mr. Hillard to not fly to Ohio to make sure I'm alright."

"Dave is having a New Year's party," Kurt said, just remembering. "Will you be my date? You can invite Jeff and his fiancé too, if you want."

"That sounds perfect," Blaine said, putting his phone to sleep and tucking it back into his pocket. "It'll be a welcome return to the city, believe me. And I think Jeff would like to meet the sober version of you. I owe him a favor or ten anyway."

"Nick and his experimental senior year," Kurt said with a grin. "I won't forget. I plan on hearing that whole story sometime, by the way."

"Get him drunk enough on the right kind of alcohol," Blaine advised. "If you spin it right, he'll tell you himself."

"We should probably get off of the snow," Kurt said reluctantly. "We'll freeze to death."

"Ugh, at least we'll die happily," said Blaine, groaning as he pulled himself to his feet. He held out a hand and helped Kurt to his feet. They began to walk back the way they came. Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist, and Kurt draped his over Blaine's shoulders. "You'll get your present when I get back, by the way."

Kurt smiled as he tried to picture what Blaine had gotten him. "Yours is in my apartment. I can give it to you then, too."

Blaine gaped. "What? I was just there yesterday!"

"I hid it," Kurt teased, leaning close and smiling against Blaine's cheek as he pressed his lips to it in a kiss. "You thought I'd just leave it on the couch?"

"Eh," Blaine muttered noncommittally. "I used to pride myself on having a hidden-present-sensor. All the excitement and secrets in New York must have short-circuited it."

Kurt chuckled and leaned his head against Blaine's shoulder as they walked. Surely a bit more than a week without Blaine wouldn't be too bad. He knew that they hadn't been together for too long – their first date had been about a month ago – but in actuality, a good amount of time had gone by from the time they had first met, and he felt like he'd been with Blaine forever in the best possible way.

"Maybe it'll repair itself when you're back in Ohio," Kurt suggested.

"I don't think anything repairs itself back home," Blaine complained. "It's where happy things go to die."

"That's awfully dramatic!" Kurt said. He hoped that his accompanying laughter hadn't sounded as forced as it felt. "It's been a year since you've been back, right? Maybe you've just forgotten that it isn't really that bad." It was his family, after all. Kurt knew that Blaine wouldn't be complaining about having to visit his hometown if he knew the secret Kurt was keeping about his own family, or rather, the absence of one. That was one of the reasons he didn't want to tell Blaine about it. It would change their whole dynamic. Thankfully, Blaine had never again brought up Sherri Harlan and why Kurt was seeing her, as if he could sense that Kurt wasn't ready to talk about it. One day, he would tell him everything.

"Say hi to Cooper for me then," Kurt said. Blaine's expression shifted into a small grin, for which Kurt was grateful. "If he's anything like you, I can see why he's your one good thing about going home."

Blaine tilted his head to look at Kurt. "Maybe you can meet him one day."

Kurt tried to control the size of his ecstatic smile and the breathiness of his voice as he spoke: "I think I'd really like that."

* * *

><p><em>AN: There we go! With all the excitement over Cooper going through the internet (and it's SO excitement worthy!) I really couldn't resist adding him in here! When Blaine is on Ohio, if everything goes according to plan, there will be one section from Kurt's POV and one from Blaine's - so we'll get to meet Cooper for real. I have a question forr you guys though! I could write the Blaine-in-Ohio part from Blaine's POV, as I have done on and off in this so far, OR I could do it from Cooper's POV up until he and Blaine seperate again. Pros: you'd get to see what Cooper thinks of his little brother's sexuality and his new romance with Kurt, you'd get to see what Cooper thinks of their parents, you'd get to see everything happen through Cooper's eyes. Cons: that might be kind of abrupt for just a part of the story since the rest of just Kurt and Blaine's POV (though I AM planning on bringing Cooper back at least once), you wouldn't get to see Blaine interact with his family through his own POV, you wouldn't get to be in Blaine's mind when he talks about Kurt to other people. I suppose that if enough people can't decide which they'd prefer, I might be able to craft it through both POVs :P_

_Thanks for reading guys! I hoped you enjoyed, and please leave a review! :D _


	7. Chapter 7 :: Two Confrontations

_A/N: Hey guys! I decided to do POVs from both of the Anderson brothers after all :) It was too tempting to resist, I guess! What I had previously thought would be one chapter has been slipt into two, so here's the first part!_

_Enjoy!_

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><p>(3:45 pm) Where are youuuuuuu?<p>

_(3:47 pm) In Columbus! Same place I was five minutes ago, as a matter of fact, the last time you asked me that._

(3:48 pm) Tell that cab to come faster…

_(3:49 pm) Sure, I'll just touch my temple and Professor X the memo to him._

(3:49 pm) YES, DO THAT.

(3:52 pm) …where are you? O_O

_(3:55 pm) You're paying for this phone bill._

_(3:56 pm) I'm in the cab._

(3:57 pm) YAY YAY!

_(3:59 pm) Should I be flattered that you're so eager to see me?_

(4:00 pm) Sure, let's just say that.

_(4:00 pm) Hmm?_

(4:02 pm) …hmm?

_(4:03 pm) HMM?_

(4:05 pm) ;_; You see straight (ha) through me. Don't leave me alone with them any longerrrrrrr.

_(4:06 pm) Omg, you are a child. It isn't my fault that my plane got delayed!_

(4:06 pm) "How's the practice, Cooper?"

(4:07 pm) "You shouldn't be catering to movie stars, Cooper. You should be working as a real doctor somewhere where your talent can make a difference, not giving wannabe actresses boob jobs."

_(4:08 pm) …Cooooopperrrr…_

(4:08 pm) "I could have TOLD you that having a private practice in Los Angeles was a bad idea, Cooper. Why don't you listen to your parents?"

(4:09 pm) NOT EVERYONE HERE IS AN ACTRESS, BLAINE…AND I DO NOT ONLY GIVE BOOB JOBS.

_(4:10 pm) Plastic surgery is really important!_

(4:11 pm) I know! I'm making the world a more beautiful place. It isn't a sin!

_(4:13 pm) Well, don't worry. In an hour I'll be home and mom and dad won't have a single thing to say about your sins anymore._

"Cooper!"

Cooper Anderson sighed and looked up from his phone as his mother called him. He'd gotten home over an hour ago. He was interrogated for forty-five minutes, he excused himself to unpack, and then he immediately texted his brother. They were supposed to get in at the same time, but Blaine's plane had been delayed.

He walked to his door and peered down the hall. He couldn't see his mother, which meant she was at the bottom of the stairwell on the other end of the hall. "Mom?"

"Can you come down here? Blaine should be here in half an hour or so, and your father and I need to talk to you."

"…Just a second." Shaking his head, Cooper walked back into his room and picked up his phone.

(4:17 pm) I'm being summoned. I'll see you when you get home, little bro.

* * *

><p>Kurt trudged to the office of Sherri Harlan. He'd done a relatively good job of avoiding her, having had only two meetings since she saw him at the Laundromat. However, she'd insisted on seeing him once more before the offices closed for winter holiday.<p>

"Hey Kurt!" said the chipper woman at the front desk. After two years, he knew every employee that worked there. She was Claudia, thirty-two, married to a man named Phillip, and six months pregnant. "You're ten minutes late!"

"Oh _really?_" Kurt asked angelically. He leaned over her desk and plucked one of her mini candy canes out of the mug they were in. "Wow, time does fly when you're walking down the street extra slowly." He unwrapped the candy and tossed the plastic wrapper in the trashcan.

"Ahh, those are my pregnant candies," Claudia complained. "No fair!"

Kurt leaned over the desk, placed a kiss to her forehead, and popped the candy cane into his mouth. "I'll by you five more boxes, when they go on extra clearance after New Year's."

"You _do_ love me," she said with sarcastic playfulness. "A deal is a deal, Hummel. I want those candy canes. Oh, and she's waiting for you. Just walk in." She added the professional part almost as an afterthought. Kurt nodded at her and thought about how he wished Claudia was his shrink as he stepped into the room she had motioned to.

Doctor Harlan looked up and smiled at Kurt as he came in. "Traffic?" she asked brightly. "Go ahead." She nodded to the couch opposite her.

"Something like that," Kurt said dryly, "and I think I'll just sit."

"However you're most comfortable."

Kurt sat, plopped his bag next to him, and tucked his legs under him Indian style. He looked at Harlan, and she observed him. "Well?" Kurt asked finally. "No questions for me?"

"Tell me about how your week has been," she said patiently. "Just talk."

"It's been…fine…I guess."

"How's work?"

Kurt shrugged. "Same as always. David asked me if I could work up until Christmas. We'll be really short-staffed, as usual. A lot of dancers are taking their vacations early."

"Why so?"

"To visit family or something. Shit, I don't know."

"So you volunteered?"

Kurt fixed her with a direct gaze. "Why not?"

She nodded but didn't answer. "What about the man from the Laundromat? Blaine?" Kurt rolled his eyes. He'd told Harlan about his and Blaine's 'relationship' two weeks ago. He wouldn't have, but despite her annoying qualities, he knew that she was there to help him. Also, he knew that she'd pester him about it until he exploded from frustration if he didn't tell her outright. "You don't have holiday plans with him?"

Kurt tried to refrain from picking at his nails. Instead, he rubbed at his cuticles. "He's gone to visit his family in Ohio."

At this, Harlan's eyebrows rose. "You didn't mention that Blaine was from Ohio."

"I didn't think it was important."

"Isn't it? Does he know that your backgrounds are so similar?"

"I didn't think it was important," Kurt repeated pointedly. He looked up from his nails and glared at her. "Our backgrounds are _nothing_ alike."

Harlan leaned forward onto her elbows and held his gaze. "How would you know," she started, "if you've never bothered to find out?"

* * *

><p>When Cooper went downstairs, he found his parents sitting side by side on a couch. Across from them was a plush chair, obviously meant for him. Refraining from rolling his eyes at the drama of the moment – barely refraining – Cooper sat.<p>

There was an awkward silence for a few moments before, "So, Cooper, how is that lovely girl you've been seeing? Cynthia? She's so lovely – such a lovely girl…but _awfully_ young."

"Quinn," Cooper corrected after a pregnant pause. "She's good. And she isn't young, mom. She's twenty-four."

"_Blaine_ is almost twenty-four," his mother continued.

"Yes, and he isn't very young either. He's a gown man." Cooper sighed. "Quinn and I have been together for more than four years, okay? We're good. I don't need you to analyze our relationship."

"Four years and we still haven't met her," she said, undeterred. "And she was a _patient_ of yours, Cooper, isn't that a bit strange? Well, you should have brought her here for the holiday. We want to meet this girl."

Cooper was running out of excuses. He'd met Quinn after she'd been in a bad car accident. After her life was out of imminent danger, she'd needed minor reconstructive surgery. After she continued booking appointments for menial things, Cooper had told her that he couldn't in good faith date a patient, but if she stopped doing so, he'd gladly take her to dinner. For the first two years of their relationship, he'd gotten out of introducing her to his parents by telling them that it was still "too soon to tell". That didn't continue to work. He didn't doubt that if it was just his parents and the two of them, the meeting would go smoothly. The problem was that Blaine was also always summoned home for their holiday visit, and everything was not fine around Blaine. He didn't need Quinn to see the full extent of his family's dysfunction.

"Maybe I'll fly you out to LA this summer," he offered, "and you can meet her then."

"Meet her, not meet her, at least she _is_ a 'her'." His father started talking and Cooper grimaced. "We're proud of you, Coop. She's a catch! But we wanted to talk to you about Blaine."

"I'm not doing this," Cooper said, moving to get up.

"Sit your ass down on that chair," his father said sharply, pointing. Cooper's legs went weak and he plopped back down. He was ashamed that he was going on twenty-eight years old and he could still be cowed by his father. He would listen, but he didn't have to be happy about it. With no one to see him but his parents, Cooper didn't feel even a little bit guilty when he sank down into the chair unhappily and crossed his arms over his chest like a sullen, pissed off teenager. "You'll sit and listen, because Blaine will be here soon and he always listens to what you tell him."

Cooper looked away from his father. "I'm not going to tell Blaine anything but the truth," he started. "'Your music is cheesy.' 'When your hair is long you look like a hobbit.' 'LA is far superior to New York.' If those happen to be on your list, awesome. If not, count me out."

"Be serious," his father said sternly.

"Oh, I'm serious," Cooper said. "You always, _always_ do this. God, if I had a dollar for every time, I wouldn't even _need_ a job."

His mother shifted uncomfortably and his father glared. "If you wouldn't cater to his whims, we wouldn't even have this problem, Cooper. He looks up to you! You're his big brother. He wants to do what you would do."

"_Wow_," Cooper said slowly. "You don't even realize how contradictory that was, do you?"

"The _point_ is that he's only still in this phase because you're so enthusiastic about it."

Cooper cocked his head sarcastically. "Gee, a twenty-three year phase, how do those work?"

"You know very well that he hasn't always been like this," his father said, shaking his head.

"No, no Dad, I don't know that." Cooper waved his hands back in a 'no' motion and stood up from his chair. "I know that _you_ think it's a phase, because for all those years, he went out on dates with girls to try and make you proud of him. I also know that I was always the one he came to for romantic advice because you couldn't actually give two shits about his feelings. You just want him to be _normal_, whatever that is. I _also_ know that I was the one he came to when he was eleven and confused about why he didn't like girls, because he'd just seen you cuss out a newspaper that had reported about Ellen and Portia starting to date, and he was scared to death of what you'd to do him."

The eldest Anderson huffed and rolled his eyes. "This is your –"

"No, Dad, it isn't my problem." Cooper shook his head. "It's not yours either. God, just leave well enough alone. I'd like to have a normal winter holiday for once. I know that's a lot to ask. You expect us to keep coming over here every year, you too, Mom. Is it just to have yearly interventions? That's an awesome way to alienate both of your sons even more than you already have." He waved his hand in dismissal and walked away, ignoring his father's calls.

He didn't go back to his room. Instead, he went to Blaine's. For a minute or so, he just lay on his brother's bed and took a few deep breaths. He knew what to expect every year and he still got worked up. His parents would take him aside every year and ask him if he could talk to Blaine about his sexuality. They'd ask him to suggest to his little brother that his interest in men was fabricated, or that it was a phase he had to pass to properly grow up.

Cooper was five years older than Blaine. When he'd come crying to Cooper after hearing his father explode over Ellen DeGeneres, Cooper had only been sixteen. He'd just gotten back from the Winter Formal at his high school. He'd asked Lucille Barton, a cheerleader, to be his date. She'd been his second kiss – the first being Katie Cooper, on the preschool playground, when they'd gotten married and he'd taken her last name to become Cooper Cooper. He'd been in post-dance euphoria and Blaine had come to his door nearly crying. He'd only been in sixth grade.

Thinking of that now, Cooper squeezed his eyes closed and tried to remember how the interaction had gone.

"_Cooper?"_

"_Hey, bud. I'm kind of tired…do you think this can wait until tomorrow?"_

_Blaine looked up at him with large, wide, amber eyes which then skittered to the side. "Oh…I – I guess." _

_He began to walk away, but his slumped shoulders and bowed head caught Cooper's attention. "Blainers?" Blaine turned around. "Come on in. You can talk while I brush my teeth, okay?"_

_Blaine's face lit up and he hopped onto Cooper's bed. For a long while, in fact for as long as it took Cooper to brush his teeth, Blaine silently fiddled with the hem of his shirt. When he was done, Cooper went and sat down on his bed. He leaned back on his headboard and looked at his little brother expectantly. "Buddy?" Blaine looked away as Cooper spoke. "Hey, Blaine. What's up? Are you alright?"_

"_Dad was yelling something earlier today," Blaine started. "About these two girls. They started going on dates, like a boy and girl would. Do a lot of people do that?"_

_Cooper shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, Blaine. Who cares?"_

_Blaine looked uncertain. "I kind of care. Billy said he asked Savannah to go to a movie with him, and they held hands, and afterward, she kissed his cheek."_

"_Alright…"_

"_And everyone talks about which girls they think are the most pretty."_

"_Everyone does that in middle school, Blaine," Cooper explained patiently. "You don't have to feel weird about it. If you don't want to talk to your friends about girls yet, just don't." Blaine raised his eyes to the ceiling and Cooper was shocked to see that his eyes were bright with held back tears. "Whoa, Blaine. Seriously, what's wrong, buddy? You can tell me."_

"_What if I don't want to talk to my friends about girls ever?" Blaine asked, his voice thick with restrained emotion. "I don't have anyone that I like how Billy likes Savannah. Then Dad was saying all those curse words when he found out about those two girls." Blaine reached up and wiped away tears. "I don't like girls like all of my friends do. I'm broken, Coop."_

_Cooper sat silent for a few seconds, trying to process what he was supposed to say to something like that. After a moment, he nudged Blaine until he looked up. "Hey, which movie is better: The Phantom Menace or A New Hope?"_

_Blaine frowned. "A New Hope, Cooper, God. What does that have to do –?"_

"_You're not broken," Cooper interrupted. "That was a test, and you passed." He shrugged. "Don't ever listen to Dad if he tries to tell you anything different. Who you like doesn't matter. That girl Dad was talking about has a girlfriend, and the two of them aren't any different than Billy and Savannah. If you end up liking girls when you're older, that's fine. If you never like girls," Cooper continued delicately. "If one day you maybe decide that you like boys how your friends like girls, that's fine too." He smiled at Blaine. "You're still Blainers, my little brother, and whoever complains can stuff it up their…well, right." He cleared his throat and looked away._

_He was still looking away when he felt Blaine lean over and hug him. He felt the residue of Blaine's tears soak into his thin shirt, and he lifted a hand to pat his brother's back. "Coop? Since you brought it up and all…can we watch A New Hope?"_

"…_Uh, no," Cooper answered, pulling out of Blaine's grasp. He walked over to his DVD collection and pulled out three cases. "But we _can_ watch all three of the original movies."_

Cooper came back to the present and opened his eyes. Not much had changed since that night. Blaine had come to him when he'd had his first real crush. Blaine had come to him when he'd asked a girl to the 8th grade graduation dance just to see how he'd felt about it. Blaine had come to him when he'd come out and when he'd asked another out friend to a Sadie Hawkins dance. Cooper had been the one to drive Blaine to the hospital after he'd gotten a hysterical call from Blaine's date's parent about his nearly passed out and severely beaten brother. He had been the one to take a week off of university to feed Blaine soup while he recovered. _He_ had. Cooper didn't regret a second of it, but he did resent his parents slightly for forcing him to raise Blaine on his own and then trying to get him to change who he had become.

He rose off of Blaine's bed and looked around at all of his brother's medals and trophies that he'd collected after transferring to Dalton. Cooper smiled and bent to examine some of them. A few minutes later, he heard the door open. "Wha – _Jesus_. Cooper, holy shit, you almost sent me into cardiac arrest." Cooper smirked and leaned against the dresser that he was standing next to. "You know that this is my room," Blaine continued, peering around.

"Yeah, yeah," Cooper said with a wave of his hand. He beamed at Blaine, who looked happier than he had in a long time. "Nice to see you too, Blainers."

* * *

><p>"Maybe you should try returning to Ohio for a time too?" Harlan suggested.<p>

Kurt shook his head. "No. Why would I – no. I couldn't."

"It might do you good. You could see old friends who still live there."

Kurt squeezed his eyes closed. "I _can't_, okay? I can't go back to where I grew up. I'll only think of them."

"Is that such a bad thing?" she asked quietly. "What's so bad about thinking of your family during Christmastime, Kurt? You should always remember the good things."

"Yeah well, those are kind of overpowered by the bad things," Kurt said shortly. "One day later or sooner. One hour. A different airport. A different airline. So many things could have gone differently. If just one of them had…" He trailed off.

Harlan was quiet for a moment as she let Kurt collect himself. "Our hour is up, I'm afraid," she said.

_None too soon_, Kurt thought as he grabbed his bag and hastened away. "Kurt, wait." He slowed. "When you're ready, you should try and tell Blaine a little more about yourself – your _true_ self, the part you're keeping hidden away. Baby steps are all you need, but if you never start taking them, you won't get anywhere."

"I appreciate that lesson in common sense and general knowledge," he said, not looking toward her.

"Merry Christmas, Kurt."

"…Merry Christmas, Doctor Harlan. Thank you."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I decided to cut it off here, because I thought that Kurt's scene with Harlan was a poetic parrallel to Cooper's with his parents. Next chapter, I do believe that unless I change my mind again, we'll get one section from Blaine's POV, then one from Cooper's again, then one from Kurt's :D _

_Leave a review and let me know what you thought! :3 _


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